The Three Strike Point Flag System
by Digitaldreamer
Summary: Nature has it's own way of conducting business and judging people. Unfortunately, The Once-ler is starting to get the impression The Lorax is just making this crap up as he goes.  Series, Once-ler-centric with loads of bromance
1. Point to Column A

**The Three Point-Strike-Flag System**

**A Lorax Fanfic Series by Digitaldreamer**

**I: Point to Column A**

_Oh look guys, I'm back. And with a new fandom, surprise._

_So. The Lorax. I actually wasn't a huge fan of the movie. However, I do think there was potential in the character of the Once-ler and the expansion on him, as well as the vitrolic friendship between him and The Lorax. Thus, fanfiction was necessary, if only to make me feel a bit better about my inane love for the character designs._

_Right, so this is gonna be a series pretty much starting from that point where-in the Once-ler is trying to sell his thneed, failing, and just kinda bro-ing it up with the Lorax and all the other animals. It'll then just go through little snapshots of time within the plot of the movie, hopefully culminating in this multi-part Once-ler and Lorax character study… thing. Yes. They're usually written in one shot, little to no editing, just type and go. Hopefully you guys enjoy~!_

* * *

><p>"…What in the name of the Whos is that?"<p>

The Once-ler's smile didn't waver as he glanced from his latest invention to the foot-and-a-half high ball of fluff that called itself the Lorax. "D'ya like it?" He chirped as he propped his hammer against his shoulder, speaking over a shrill squeal of glee from a hummingfish. "It's my latest invention!"

He received a scowl for his trouble, the Lorax's blue eyes narrowing to irritated slits and nearing vanishing in a veritable forest of orange. "I can see that, Einstein," the creature drawled as he stomped his way across the griffle grass, gaze flicking from the crowd of animals swarming the area to the culprit. "That don't mean I can tell what it _is_."

The Once-ler gave a breathless laugh at this, tugging absently at his shirt collar in an attempt to get some sort of breeze through. The heat here was usually comfortable, but it wasn't really made for actually _doing_ anything in. "Why, it's a waterslide of course!" Here he gestured up at the contraption in question, green gloves flopping a bit around his hands as he illustrated all twelve feet of it- loop-de-loop bit and all. "You know, everyone goes up the slide, slips back down into the water? It's fast, it's fun, and for the moment it's completely free if you're really that worried about it." The last bit came out in the sort of speedy rush normally accompanied by a sales pitch, and the young man flashed that winning grin at the end that would have made just about anyone putty in his hands.

The Lorax glared. The Once-ler beamed back. The tension went completely ignored by the other animals, who were all lining up for the waterslide with the sort of excitement that generally went with mealtimes and sing-a-longs instead. Finally, the Lorax gave a huff and stomped closer to the slide, one eye becoming impossibly wide as he leaned in to inspect it. "You're kiddin' me, right? This thing can't _possibly_ be safe."

"Well, that would leave the egg on_ your_ face, you furry sack of righteous environmentalist anger, because I'll have you know that the animals and I tested this personally~!" The Once-ler declared. "Why, Pipsqueak's been on it loads of times and nothing's happened to him! So don't get your mustache in a knot, this slide is one hundred percent safe-a-roonie~!" The last bit was punctuated by the young man tapping a gloved hand against one of the supports. The slide gave a horrid sort of creak, which combined with a yelp of terror from a barb-ba-loot at the top did quite a bit to destroy any confidence that smile may have instilled.

"Uh… huh," The Lorax said slowly, stretching out the word as he stepped back from the contraption and scratched his head. Finally, something clicked and he scowled, spinning to glare at the young man again. "'Ey, ain't this Truffula wood? You _promised_-"

"Hey, hey, relax!" The inventor cut him off, flinging up his gloved hands in what he hoped was a peaceful gesture. "Those trees were down when I got there, I just used the wood that was already there. No axe involved, I promise. Come on, you can't _possibly_ be mad at me for that!"

The forest guardian glared at him for another moment, the silence punctuated by another squeal of glee as a Swomme-Swan sped down the slide. The Once-ler bit the inside of his lip and held his breath- he wanted to believe something had gone right here, but well, the Lorax had made it explicitly clear he was not a fan of most things the young man did. In fact, as far as the Once-ler knew, the Lorax just happened to quite enjoy not taking well to everything he did. Not that the Once-ler particularly cared, mind you, but lectures were annoying and he had better things to do.

Fortunately, it seemed fate had spared him this time. The Lorax gave a huff and crossed his arms before him. "Whatever. That's a point on the record, Beanpole," the creature muttered.

"See?" The Once-ler chirped. "That wasn't so hard, actually agreeing with me for once, you- wait, _what_! I have a record! Since when do you keep records!"

He received a shrug in response, the motion punctuated by another shrill squeal of glee from the waterslide. "Cosmic requirement, and it's a pain in my furry behind too, lemme tell ya. What, did ya really think the powers that be wouldn't have some sort of bureaucracy? Use your head, kid."

Again came the awkward silence in which the Once-ler just gave the Lorax an incredulous stare. Finally he scowled, reaching up knock his fedora askew and scratch his own head. "I think that phrase lost all meaning the day the cosmic guardian of the forest appeared to be a full-time pain in my… look, whatever, what does a point even _mean_!"

"Dunno," The Lorax shrugged again, arching his back in an attempt to stretch that made him look more like a furry jelly bean than ever. "I haven't actually decided that yet. Or maybe I have, I ain't tellin' _you_, that's for sure."

"What!" The Once-ler sputtered. "But that's not- that doesn't even- it's not like you can kick me out!" His furry nemesis simply arched an over-fluffed brow at him, causing the young man to give a growl of frustration. "Look, the slide's not even hurting anything! It's fun, it's safe and everyone loves it! So why don't you just-"

He was cut off by a low, rumbling sort of call and a worrying creak. The arguing pair glanced up to see the largest Barb-ba-loot perched triumphantly at the top of the slide. The Once-ler instantly paled. "N-no… W-wait, buddy, I don't think you should-"

Too late. The Barb-ba-loot let out another warbling squeal and leaped onto the slide, bulky fur spilling over the sides as he launched down it. He sped downward, water splattering everywhere, the slide giving an unfortunate creak and lurching to one side as the animal hit the loop-de-loop. There was a splintering crack from one of the supports and a cascade of water over one edge, but fortunately the contraption stayed whole as the animal finally went flying into the river with a great, impossible splash!

The Once-ler stood there for a moment, eyes wide with shock. Then he gave a small giggle, then a chuckle, followed by a booming laugh that shook his entire frame like a tree in a hurricane. "It works! Oh man I thought for _sure_ that was gonna be a disaster but it _works_! I mean sure the supports need work but _yes_!" He exclaimed, punching a fist in the air before spinning to face the Lorax. "Oh man, hey Meatloaf, did you-"

His elated cries came to a stop as he met the Lorax's narrowed eyes- or at least what he could see of them. The liquid soaked into those eyebrows was making vision a bit hard- though the rest had left the Lorax looking more like a drowned pillow than anything else.

There was another beat of silence as the Once-ler and all the gathered animals stared. The Hummingfish started first with their giggles, followed by a snort from the Barb-ba-loots, then a cackling laugh from the Swomme-Swans. The Once-ler felt a smile fighting for dominance on his face and he bit his lip to keep it down, though it did little to stop the snicker.

The Lorax scowled. "Oh, _fine_! You can all fall t' your deaths, see if I care!" He snapped, waving a tiny claw in the air. The movement sent water splattering onto the Once-ler's vest, which only seemed to make the Hummingfish laugh harder. With that the guardian of the forest spun on his heels and stomped off, each footstep giving an awkward squelch. "You're still gettin' a point for the deathtrap, beanpole!"

His threat very nearly went unheard as the Once-ler collapsed into laughter himself, thin arms squeezed around his middle as he fell back next to a sopping wet Swomme-Swan. He had no idea what a point was and really, it was true, the slide _was_ kind of dangerous- probably unsellable as much as beyond the attraction it made up now.

But oh, that had been worth it.


	2. Yellow Flag for Vanity

**The Three Strike-Point-Flag System**

**A Lorax Fanfic Series by Digitaldreamer**

**II:** **Yellow Flag for Vanity**

_Annnd now we're back with chapter two. This was originally meant to be something different, but for some reason my brain is a sucker for daily life rituals and how they tie into character's lives. Thus, we get an average morning_ _for The Once-ler in the valley, lots of vitriolic banter_ _and a somewhat weak tie in to the theme_ _because in my mind our favorite inventor is a vain sort of fellow. Deal with it._

_I, uh, hope you guys enjoy!  
><em>

* * *

><p>The really sad part was how familiar this was becoming.<p>

The Once-ler couldn't even bring himself to muse on this fact as he narrowly avoided tripping over a pile of snoring bar-ba-loots. He just continued tip-toeing along, bare feet crushing beds of fallen feathers and tufts of fur on the tent floor as he skirted around the hummingfish that had taken to using his boots as a pillow. He darted around a minefield of swomme-swan nests and twisted past Pipsqueak, finally reaching the bathroom doorknob and wincing as it gave a squeak that seemed all too loud after all that effort.

It had taken a day or two before the inventor realized that whole saying about the early bird getting the worm was absolute crap. In fact, he was starting to think he was the only one who willingly got up before ten.

Fortunately, that also meant if he was very careful he could get a bit of peace and quiet into his morning routine before heading out for the day. It was this thought that kept him moving very slowly and quietly as he tugged open the bathroom door. He wouldn't be able to close it entirely, not with one of the smaller bar-ba-loots snoozing comfortably on the threshold, but he'd make due.

This task done, the young man spun on his heel to view the rest of his tent's absurdly tiny bathroom- only to groan as his vision was filled with orange.

"Well gee, look who finally decided t' grace the world with his presence!" The Lorax chirped from his place on the counter, old toothbrush in hand as he diligently groomed his mustache.

"Like you can talk. You sleep all day, Furball. And that had better not be my new one, I'm not picking orange fur out of my teeth again," The Once-ler said with a good-natured eyeroll as he reached over and shoved the beast out of the way of the mirror.

"'Ey!" The Lorax yelped indignantly as he thumped heavily into the wall. "I wasn't done yet!"

"If I wait for you to finish preening, I'm gonna be late," the young man said as he met his reflection's gaze. "Besides, it's _my_ bathroom."

"Oh right, the princess needs his castle, I forgot. Try sharing, it's a virtue," The critter huffed as he shoved his way back in front of the mirror and continued brushing violently at the lemon yellow tufts of fur.

The Once-ler gave another half-hearted shove before surrendering half of the countertop, making a face as he patted absently at his bangs. The valley seemed to be going through a humid spell, and his side-sweep wasn't taking well to it. "Ugh. Forget selling thneeds, at this rate I'm going to have to start using it for a towel when I sleep."

This drew a snort from his companion. "Seriously? It's hair, kid. It grows on your freakish head and you don't have enough of it, that's about all there is to it."

"Well, that just shows how much _you_ know about sales," The young man replied matter-of-factly as he snatched up a comb. The item was still sticky from the heavy night air, but he'd have to work with it. "Rule One: Always look your best, and I intend to do just that!"

"That explains why you live in here, then," The furry beast snorted as he tugged on the toothbrush a bit too hard, bopping the Once-ler on the shoulder harmlessly with his tiny fist. "Seriously, what kind of man spends nearly an hour in the bathroom?"

"One that has to fight with Hummingfish to gain access to his conditioner, obviously," The Once-ler gave a shrug as he swept the comb through his bangs, following the motion through with a less-than subtle jab of a pointed elbow into the Lorax's furry side.

"…Yeah, you lost the rights to tha' battle the instant you admitted to owning _conditioner_, Ophelia."

"Rule One: Always look your best!" The Once-ler repeated brightly as he set the comb down and beamed at himself in the mirror. "Your use of girls names can do nothing against the spike of self-esteem I experience when L'oreal: Blue Fish Edition reminds me I'm worth it."

"I'll remember that the next time I spot a dress in your size, Shirley," the Lorax replied with an eyeroll as he set the toothbrush down by his feet. He turned to hop down from the counter, only to pause when he saw his companion's expression shift to a frown. "All right, what're you doing now? What, did ya spot a zit on your silky smooth skin?"

"No," The Once-ler muttered as he rubbed at his chin, grimacing at the roughness against his fingertips. "I do need to shave though."

"Shave!" The Lorax sputtered. "Are you even old enough for that! You're what, _twelve_?"

"Twenty-one," The young man replied as he pulled open a drawer, the motion forcing him to press against the opposite wall of the bathroom so as to make room for it.

"But why would you wanna shave!" The critter exclaimed as he abruptly filled the young man's vision, squinting at the Once-ler's chin before he was unceremoniously shoved aside. "Seriously, you've barely got _peach fuzz_!"

"Rule One~!" The Once-ler chirped again as if this explained everything. As he spoke, he yanked some sort of horrifying contraption out of the drawer. Several jagged, snaggle-toothed razors glittering as the inventor twirled it in his hands, then set it aside so he could continue digging things out.

"_Gah_!" The Lorax dived to the other side of the counter, then gaped at the contraption as if it were a murder weapon- which, to be fair, seemed like a fairly apt description. "The heck is that thing?"

"It's a razor," His companion replied calmly as he picked a tuft of bar-ba-loot hair from the aerosol can in his hands, then shook it in time with a few hummed notes.

The Lorax grimaced as he toed closer to the machine, poked it with a toe, then scowled. "Deathtrap's more like it. If you lose control of that thing, I'm havin' your head," he grumbled as he flopped onto the counter, stick-like legs and furry feet dangling over the edge.

"You say that about everything," The Once-ler drawled as he sprayed a thick lather of white, frothy foam over his face. "Are you just contractually obligated to be disapproving of everything I own?"

"Well, yes. But for you, Bigfoot, it's a privilege that I gladly accept." The Lorax said, though he couldn't help but wince as the razor hummed to life. "Why would you wanna shave that anyway? If you kept it up, in a few years ya might finally pull off a mustache."

The Once-ler chuckled at this. "And look like you? Mmm, let me think about it: No."

"Hey! You got a problem with mustaches!"

"Me, mustache problem? No, not me, _I've_ got nothing to compensate for. I'm perfectly content in my masculinity and thus will never feel the need to grow one." The last word was punctuated by a jab of the razor, sending shaving cream splattering onto the furry sack of potatoes perched on his countertop. "Besides, mustaches are ugly."

The Lorax gave a growl as he wiped the stuff off, grimacing at the new wet spot in his fur. "Ugly? You're lucky I don't give you a yellow flag for that one, Princess," He snapped as he stood and put his hands on his hips. "You listen here, mustaches are a man's way of showing he's a man! If ya had less estrogen in your blood, we wouldn't have this problem!"

His ranting went unnoticed as the Once-ler briefly ducked down and splashed water from the tap onto his face. He then popped up like some sort of black-haired, impossibly tall weed, ran a hand over his now smooth face and flashed that winning smile to the mirror. "Who's the good-looking genius who's gonna sell some thneeds today and change the world? You are!" With those words he spun on his heels and hopped over the snoozing bar-ba-loot in the doorway, whistling to himself.

"Hey, I'm talking here!" The Lorax snapped as he leaped from the counter and paused in the doorway, watching as the tall man threaded through the snoozing animals with the sort of flourish normally reserved for show stopping dance-numbers. He watched as the Once-ler oh-so-cautiously pushed yet another bear from his vest, which had been slung over a chair in the night. "Is this really necessary? Ain't it kinda hot for a vest and everythin' else anyway?"

The Once-ler gave a sigh, lips pursing as he stared disapprovingly at the fur coating his vest. He then snatched some sort of sticky, plastic roller from it's new place as a hummingfish's teddy bear so he could roll it across the article of clothing. "I told you, Rule O-"

"Yeah, yeah, Rule One," the Lorax grumbled. "I'm just saying, it don't have to be perfect. I mean, you ironed your pants last night, who does that?"

"Uh, people who want to succeed, obviously," the Once-ler said with a snort as he finally pulled on the vest and adjusted it, then turned and grinned. "What do you think? Do I look great or do I look great?"

"Do I really have to answer that?"

"I'm going to take that as a 'great', thanks." The young man drawled as he tugged on one of his shoes, long legs very nearly stretching across the entirety of the tent. He hopped on one foot in a strange sort of zig-zag pattern as he did so, each leap taking him closer to the door and miraculously past a few more snoozing animals.

"You know," the Lorax spoke up again, and this time his tone was strangely lacking in its usual bite. "Ya don't have to try so hard, Beanpole."

At these words the Once-ler blinked and glanced up from where he was adjusting his fedora, expression one of confusion. "Huh?"

The furry creature gave a sigh from the doorway. "This. The whole… metrosexual over-compensation thing," he said, punctuating the last bit with a swirling motion of his hands. "A tree don't grow if you don't let it be. That's why this whole business shtick ain't working, you're trying too hard."

There was a moment of awkward silence in which the Once-ler stared across the tent, thin shoulders slumping slightly. "I… I know that. I'm not…" He trailed off for a moment, absently fiddling with the guitar in his hands. . "I just… no one's gonna…" He paused for a moment, shifting awkwardly, then gave a huff and grasped for the doorknob. "Oh, come on, what do you know about business? You're the physical embodiment of every hippie spirit to ever exist and you still think mustaches are the height of fashion!"

Again he received a snort, followed by a dismissive wave as the Lorax moved to flop onto the bed. "Whatever. Consider that sage bit 'o advice free, it ain't my problem if you aren't gonna listen t' your elders. I'll let the mustache thing go too. No yellow flag this time, you'll grow into it."

"Uh huh. I still think you're making the flag thing up." With those words the young man tugged open the door and stepped out into the brilliant sunlight. He took a deep breath of late spring air, a smile flitting back onto his face. After a moment he glanced back into the tent. "…Thanks for the advice, I guess."

"Mm. See ya later, Princess."

"Later, Furball."

It was with those words that the Once-ler closed the door (carefully, there were still sleeping animals and all) and stepped forward… only to pause as he took note of the fur still clinging to his vest. He made a face as he blinked down at it, then sighed and shook his head before hefting his guitar over his shoulder. "Whatever. It's not like anyone's gonna notice, right Melvin?"

He was probably far too used to this. But hey, maybe that wasn't a bad thing.

Maybe.


	3. All's Fair Game in Progress

**The Three Strike-Point-Flag System**

**A Lorax Fanfic Series by Digitaldreamer**

**III: All's Fair Game in Progress**

_Ayiyiyiyi this one has given me a headache. I've noticed most people tend to treat the Once-ler as either adorably innocent, deep-down tortured by his vile deeds/with an alternate evil personality or... y'know, old and angsty. I love all these interpretations, I do, but I think a lot of people forget that the Once-ler, even young!Once-ler, is kind of a selfish, self-absorbed jerk. Sure, he means well and he does good things, but see the extended version of This is The Place- he feels this valley is his for the taking and I also think he's a bit manipulative- he'd have to be, being the only smart and otherwise kind of pathetically skinny guy in a family like that._

_Sooo I tried to expand on that... dunno if it worked, but I'm tired of fighting with this thing. Let me know what you guys think!_

_Crits and comments are greatly appreciated!_

* * *

><p>This was definitely it.<p>

The Once-ler couldn't help but beam as he looked from his hastily scrawled schematics to the three foot tall, metallic skeleton he'd left sprawled over the griffle grass. The thing didn't look like much now, more like a carcass of steel and wires, but the wrenches cast every which way around him would fix that.

The thneed was a brilliant idea, there was no denying that. However, it wouldn't last forever when it finally _did_ catch on; he knew how business worked and knew equally well the lifespan of fads. Therefore, it was important that he keep up the pace, come up with something new so he'd have something in the wings for when the time came. Sure, it wasn't like he could say they'd all been great- the waterslide had been fun, but impractical, and admittedly that whole mess with the mustache-ifiyer six thousand was probably best left unsaid. But this one was different. This would be another game changer, he was sure of it.

"Yep. I am definitely a genius," he declared proudly as he flopped backwards, the plush grass seemingly waiting for him with open arms. He let out a sigh as he stretched out, back arching like some sort of long, vest-clad bridge before he settled back. He probably shouldn't have, considering the bright green stains that had been covering his shirts as of late, but there wasn't much helping it. Besides, it was far too nice of a day to not enjoy it.

A high-pitched hum of curiosity drew his attention from the clear blue sky to Pipsqueak, whom had plopped down next to him and was now observing his invention. "Hey buddy," The Once-ler chirped as he sat up again and brushed several stalks of grass from the back of his vest, still beaming. "What'dya think?"

Wide, dark eyes surveyed the invention in question. After a moment of silence the creature flopped back onto the grass and proceeded to start nibbling at its own toes.

"Not impressed, huh?" The inventor snorted, the sharp intake of breath sending a sweet, sharp twinge through his nose. "Well, that shows what i_you_/i know. When this thing is done, we'll be able to make calls all over the world! You could call bar-ba-loots on a completely different continent and see what fruit they eat there!"

At this, Pipsqueak's ears perked up and he finally glanced back the thing in question. He cocked his head to the side and gave another squeak as his paw flopped almost soundlessly back to the ground.

The Once-ler snickered at this. "You _would_ only pay attention once I mentioned food," he said as he reached for one of the wrenches and picked up the thing to begin working on it again. "Seriously though, think about it! If we got communications up, it'd be easier to get my inventions all over the world. I could make a better car… or, _or_ trains or planes or… something else that rhymes with all that."

At his companion's confused face, the young man chuckled. "Come on, it'd be good for you too! We could… well,_ I_ could make a machine that made ready-made, really strong nests so all the swomme-swans wouldn't get blown away- you know, like that really bad storm last week? Wouldn't happen if I had anything to say about it!" He punched a fist into his free palm before bending nearly double over his work again. "And, you know, the hummingfish like performing, and if we just got some microphones in here, I bet people would love to hear them! And I could make you bar-ba-loots a machine to harvest Truffula fruit and then you guys would have huge stores for the winter and it'd be great!"

As he rambled, the Once-ler grew more and more manic, practically bouncing up and down as he worked. Pipsqueak was equally excited, eventually breaking into a series of claps and a high, warbling whine of approval.

"That's the spirit!" The inventor laughed before looking back to his invention and squinting. "Speaking of progress, I need a number nine… hold this for me, would you?" With those words he abruptly thrust the wrench into the bear's paws and went rummaging through the rest laying about.

Pipsqueak let out a yelp of protest, stumbling under the weight of the tool- and it was no surprise, given how the thing was roughly his size.

The Once-ler merely rolled his eyes in response to this. Okay, the thing was admittedly somewhat heavy, but he needed help! "Oh come on, Pipsqueak, stop being such a drama queen!" He drawled, not even glancing over as he found the tool he needed and went back to fiddling, the shrill shriek of metal squeezing against metal echoing through the valley for a moment. "You wanted to see those new machines, right? Well, the sooner I get this thing done, the sooner we get to that! You're aiding progress!" After a moment of this he set the new wrench down and snatched his old one back, leaving his now free friend to collapse on the grass with a gasp of exhaustion. The inventor didn't even blink, eyes still focused on his contraption with an intensity that would have made the sun jealous.

"Hmm… this bit's loose. Hand me that hammer, would you?" Here he thrust out a gloved hand and waved it several times, only to frown when he didn't receive the tool in question. He cast a side-long glance Pipsqueak's way, arching a brow. "Aw, come on Pipsqueak, this is progress! Remember, the faster we work, the faster it goes! What, do you just hate progress or something?"

Pipsqueak stared at him through half-lidded eyes, furry chest still puffing a mile a minute. Then he shook his head and flopped back onto the grass.

"Seriously!" The Once-ler did his best to suppress the pout he felt coming on as his lips pressed together. He then shook his head, that winning smile flashing into place as he leaned toward the critter. "Come on Pipsqueak, we're friends, aren't we? Friends help each other all the time! You know, you casa, mi casa or… whatever. But anyway, if you help me, we can play tag or you can steal my hat and try to eat it and it'll be great!" The inventor eyed the bear for another moment, gauging the creature's reaction. After several moments of silence, he gave a shrug. "All right, suit yourself. I guess you just don't like free truffula fruit then…" With those words he slowly turned back to his contraption, counting under his breath as he did so.

The Once-ler was no stranger to talking his way into help- it was the only way to get anything done in his family, after all. Most of the time he found himself pushed around by the far burlier Brett and Chett; he lacked the subtle talent of his mother when it came to those two, meaning he was stuck with most of the chores. However, years as the weaker son had left him in many situations where his only saving grace was his words- and therein lay his talent. He couldn't count the number of times he'd managed to finagle supplies and free labor from his brothers simply through a well-placed incentive in the form of a date recommendation or a promise to fix the only working televsion.

With this in mind, he wasn't terribly surprised when upon reaching 'five' the bar-ba-loot had made it back to him with the hammer.

The young man gave a smug sort of chuckle as he went back to his invention. "Works every time," he drawled as he tapped lightly on the device. The thing gave an unfortunate sort of ring, as if he's struck it at the exact wrong frequency. The Once-ler winced at this, his greasy, gloved finger doing little to save his ear from the noise. "Great," He muttered. "Something's probably loose now, go figure, I'm gonna need a trans-morpher to reverse the polarity and I don't-"

His complaints were cut off by a flutter of wings. Bright blue eyes flicked upward to spot a swomme-swan before that smile fell back into place again. "Say, Featherbrain… you know, have I ever mentioned that I've always thought you were the smartest swomme-swan in the valley?" He drawled as he leaned against his machine, propping his head up with his elbow. "And I could _really_ use some help…"

It continued like this for awhile. First he needed the screw he'd let roll behind his desk back at the tent, and well, the tiniest hummingfish fit back there perfectly once he gave the whole microphone spiel and _casually_ suggested said hummingfish was the best singer in the valley Then he'd needed more hands than he really had, and bar-ba-loots were always willing to help if you gave them a good reason in the promise of several well-balanced meals. Then he'd needed some truffula tufts for fuel and swomme-swans were considerably faster than climbing all the way to the top of those trees! Sure, he had to promise to babysit a few birds, but well, they were well-behaved enough and if he was busy enough they'd probably forget anyway.

Was it dishonest? Not entirely, he had every intention of keeping most of these promises. Besides, he did need help, so it all evened out… right?

An hour later found the Once-ler surrounded by half of the valley and an absurd amount of chatter. Several bar-ba-loots shifted awkwardly on their paws as they held tools in the air, some growling in an effort to get the swomme-swans to stop using said tools as perches. A hummingfish had been given the designated duty of lemonade holder and seemed to be having trouble due to the sweaty glass sliding out of his fins- fortunately, before it could drop, a gloved hand shot out to snatch it away in a tinkle of ice cubes against glass.

"Mmm. Thank you," The young man mumbled around the bendy straw, gnawing absently on the plastic. "Just for the record, this lemonade is perfect, and I am so glad I told you to go make it from scratch because there was really no other way to do this. Maybe you should-"

"Oi!"

The Once-ler's face fell as a familiar, gruff voice echoed over the treetops. "Oh, you're gotta be kidding me," he muttered as he shoved the glass back into the hummingfish's fins, ignoring the deathglare aimed for his back as he focused instead on the orange ball of fluff bounding down the hill. "All right Hairball, what do you want?"

The Lorax made a sputtering noise as he came to a stop at the foot of the hill, gesturing wildly at the scene before him. "What do I want?" He exclaimed. "You've roped half the valley into slave labor!"

Blue eyes widened in mock shock as the Once-ler pressed a gloved hand dramatically to his chest. "Slave labor! You wound me, my fine furry friend. I'll have you know these fine friends of mine are all willing partners in the name of progress! Also I've promised to pay all of them, so you can't complain."

"Pay them?" The Lorax repeated incredulously before looking to a bar-ba-loot who'd been saddled with the task of holding up a satellite dish. "And what exactly did he promise ya, Too Tall?"

The creature in question blinked at him, then beamed and gave a series of growls. The Lorax's face fell. "He promised you a weight loss plan… are you serious? You don't need him for that! And he's not gonna make ya some sort of machine to help you either, he's lyin' through his teeth!"

"Hey!" The Once-ler exclaimed. "I am not!"

"Oh really? You promised Pipsqueak you'd fix that stupid slide you made last week, where's that, huh?"

"Uuuh…"

"Or the birdhouse you said you were gonna make?"

"H-hey, I _am_ working on that, the satellite dish just needs a few calibrations-"

"Or the time you promised you were gonna make a gazebo with a porch swing that dispenses lemonade? Face it kid, you're all talk. You don't keep half the promises you make," The Lorax finished by folding his arms and glaring at the man.

The Once-ler scowled as he grabbed a wrench and got back to work. "Look, I'm _busy_, okay? Great inventions don't happen overnight and I've only got so much time. I'll get to it! In the meantime I'm gonna need all the help I can get, and it's not like these guys are doing anything! They all _chose_ to help, so you can kindly take your mustache and poke it somewhere _else_ where it doesn't belong."

He received a disapproving glare for a moment. Then the Lorax sighed and shook his head, waving a hand in a dismissive manner. "Whatever. That's still a black mark on the record, Beanpole."

At these words the young man very nearly dropped the wrench he'd been holding. "What? What for? I told you, I'm not doing anything wrong!"

"Making promises you can't keep seems pretty wrong t' me. But if you don't wanna go with that, there's always the fact that you keep taking crap that don't belong to you," the creature called behind him as he wandered off. "You live here with everyone else, genius, that doesn't mean everything's just here for you to take as ya please. It'd probably be good for you to remember that."

The Once-ler watched him go, gloved hand paused in the act of snatching a truffula fruit from Pipsqueak. "I… what… I'm not… hey, don't just walk away! I was gonna pay them all back!" He exclaimed. When he received no answer, the young man gave a huff before looking to the bar-ba-loot. "Geez, who does that guy think he is? 'Oooh look at me, I'm a cosmic force of nature and I'm here to complain about everything you do! Blahblahblah black mark on your record, stop stepping on the grass'… _sheesh_." He let out a frustrated breath, the air ruffling his bangs as he glared at nothing in particular.

After a moment of silence, Pipsqueak gave a whimper and nudged him with the fruit in his paws. The Once-ler blinked, glanced down at the creature, then let out a sigh as his shoulders slumped. "What? Oh… no thanks. That… that's yours, I don't need it," the inventor muttered as he ran a hand through his hair, then picked up the wrench again. "Relax guys, I'll pay you back for this, don't worry."

Granted, part of his motivation was just to prove the Lorax wrong, but hey… whatever worked, right?


	4. Points for Craft Days and Sing Alongs

**-The Three Strike-Point-Flag System-**

**A Lorax Fanfic Series by Digitaldreamer**

**IV: Points for Craft Days and Sing-a-longs (Or Point for Attention Whoring, But Only 'Cause You Smiled)**

_Got another one done pretty fast since the internet was down at lunch today. Whooo~!_

_And this one is actually my favorite one thus far. I've always had a soft spot for somewhat gruff characters like the Lorax, so it was pretty fun to get into his head and see the Once-ler through his eyes. But above all else, I just love writing attention whore Once-ler- because he is, let's face it._

_Hope you guys enjoy it! Please tell me what you thank!_

* * *

><p>The kid was all right. The Lorax would never say it, but well, that wasn't exactly news either. Sure there were issues, there always were, but he supposed in the end it didn't matter. The kid had potential, and what kind of nature spirit could ignore that?<p>

But oh, there were issues.

For instance, The Lorax did not understand the man's enthusiasm for those stupid vests and the constant offerings of marshmellows in place of proper apologies was downright aggravating. His inventions were pointless at best and annoying at the worst, and the whole mess with the "Mustache-ifier 3000" business with the chicken had just been confusing. The Lorax had drawn the line around when his self-appointed charge had whipped a pair of thick-rimmed glasses out of seemingly nowhere, because no, the glasses look stupid and so do you so shut up and let me sleep.

Of course, there were good things as well. The Lorax couldn't deny that that the young man was capable of a startling amount of generosity when he wasn't tied up in his own ambitions, and he'd appreciated the extra hands during the sudden rainstorm that had sent them all diving for the tent and the warm safety of hot cocoa. He also couldn't deny the whole waterslide thing had been a hit amongst the animals, and as much as he found all the blind optimism irritating, he had to admit it was inspiring. You know, if you needed inspiration for doing something impossibly stupid like jumping in front of a charging bar-ba-loot.

The thing that annoyed him most, funnily enough, hadn't been any of those sweeping character flaws or one of the Once-ler's many misguided attempts to make something of himself. No, the bit that irritated him most was something seemingly small, a thing that was intrinsically tied to the young man's very core.

Because you see, The Once-ler would do _anything_ if it meant he could get someone to look at him for more than two seconds.

Every step was a show with him and there was simply no denying or avoiding it. He danced and hummed when he made pancakes, flipped them in the air and caught them like some sort of long-limbed striped circus monkey. He sought out whomever would lend an ear for his inventions, brilliant blue eyes dimming the instant he spotted the tell-tale glaze of a bored audience. He contorted his long body like a gymnast as he worked, peppered his speech with charming smiles, compliments and rapidfire jokes in something like a plea. It was kind of sad, really.

Of course, it was hard to feel pity when a certain long-limbed, fedora-wearing idiot came prancing through the hills with the first beams of sunrise, hollering out a positively ridiculous tune and clearly over the moon with his animal back up. There was little the Lorax could do besides force the tent window open and snarl out into the chaos.

"RED FLAG, Beanpole! You idiots cut tha' out, it's six in the morning for cripes sake!" He exclaimed before tugging the tent window flap shut with all the force one could manage with canvas- which is to say, not a lot. The beast was well aware his words were all bark and no bite- there was no stopping a sing-a-long when the Once-ler got the animals started. He could certainly try though.

And oh, he did try. It wasn't that the Lorax hated music- on the contrary, he was quite the fan of some of the older folk songs he'd heard from travelers back in the day. However, sometimes nature deserved to be heard on its own merits without singing from the shower at four AM.

It wasn't like the songs were inherently bad. On the contrary, some were downright catchy. But the Lorax certainly wasn't about to admit it, because he knew damn well what all that showmanship was for. He appreciated the cooking, the inventions and the help, but he knew the source and wasn't about to encourage it.

With that in mind, it was hard to not feel a few reservations when the Lorax roused from his afternoon snooze to hear a chorus of giggles. The creature frowned, brow furrowing even as his eyes remained shut against the warmth of the sun.

"Hey, hey, don't move!"

Now the Lorax was definitely frowning, furry lips pressed into a scowl. "What're you up to, Beanpole?" He growled as he cracked open one green eye.

He found himself blinking blearily at the sight of the inventor perched cross-legged on the grass, hunched over a pad of paper. His brow was furrowed in concentration, tongue poking out of his mouth in an expression that was downright comical. A pencil was deftly pressed into his fingers, the dark end of it bobbing animatedly as the Once-ler scribbled across the page. Blue eyes flicked from the page to the Lorax, and he scowled. "Hey, I said no moving!"

"I'll decide if I'm gonna move or not," the orange creature grumbled as he pushed himself up from the rock he'd chosen as a bed. His back gave a crack as he arched upward, grimacing as he rubbed at the sleep still sticking to his eyelids. He then blinked again at the scene before him, frowning. "What on Earth are you guys up to?"

The Once-ler snorted. "Isn't it obvious? It's craft day!"

Spread out across the hill was a number of animals, all heavily engrossed in something or other. Several hummingfish could be seen bent over a piece of paper, paint-soaked fins slapping onto it with heavy, wet smacks. Pipsqueak could be seen rolling in the grass, positively enthralled with dozens of star stickers and far too much glitter in his fur. A swomme-swan could be seen folding several pieces of construction paper with surprising dexterity considering it only seemed to be using its beak. A variety of other craft supplies could be seen dotting the landscape, the most worrying of which came in the form of a tube of glue that was rather well-gnawed.

The Lorax stared blankly at all of this. "I… didn't know we _had_ craft day."

"I made it up," The Once-ler explained as he reached out to snatch the tube of glue from the fat bar-ba-loot. "It's harmless and they all seem to like it, so I think for once you don't have a reason to complain."

His companion gave a scowl. "Ain't that stuff toxic?"

"Eh, vaguely. As long as they don't eat anything, it should be fine," the young man said with a shrug as he wiped the tube off in the grass before setting it down again. "Now hold still, Footstool, I'm drawing you."

"'Scuse me?" The Lorax growled. "I ain't posing for your artsy junk, you skinny hat rack."

He received an eyeroll for this. "Oh, come on, it's already halfway done anyway. It'll be five minutes and then you can go back to doing nothing. You know, like you do already."

There was a moment of silence. Then the Lorax gave a low grumble as he settled back onto the rock, eyes squeezing shut. "I do more in one day than you've done in a lifetime, brat," he growled. "It ain't easy bein' a spiritual entity."

"Uh huh, I can imagine," The Once-ler drawled, an obvious smile in his voice as the sound of sketching filled the air again. "All those naps to somehow fit in between all that complaining. Where on earth _do_ you find the time, Hairball?"

"Somewhere between your twentieth shower and crappy song lyric, Giraffe."

"Was that the best tall insult you could come up with? You'd think after a millennia you'd have developed some semblance of wit."

"Pssht. The genius just ain't hit ya yet, kid. Don't worry, when you're older ya might finally reach half the levels of my intelligence and charm."

"What, like the way you reach roughly half of my lower leg?"

"Very funny, Everest."

"I thought so, meatloaf."

The two sat in an oddly comfortable silence for awhile, the only noise coming from the billowing of the trees, the arc of the pencil and the occasional squawk from a swomme-swan. Finally, however, the Once-ler made a satisfied sort of hum. "Perfect!"

Green eyes snapped open and the Lorax winced under the glare of the sun. "All right, let's see it," he grumbled as he sat up, scratching his side as he did so.

The Once-ler stood there holding the drawing for a moment, inspecting it. Then he grinned and pushed the paper into the Lorax's waited claws. "I think I captured your likeness quite well! I mean, the musache was a challenge, I admit, but I think I got across the idea of your vague disapproval to everything and anything extremely well!"

The Lorax was silent as he inspected the drawing, doing his best to ignore the expectant blue eyes beyond it. Finally after a moment he gave a shrug. "Eh, it's all right," he said as he pushed the paper back.

"All right!" The Once-ler sputtered. "This is artistic genius!"

"You got my nose completely wrong!" The Lorax huffed. "And you can't draw a curved line t' save your life! Draw me the Mona Lisa, then we'll talk!"

"I…" The young man's face visibly fell as he looked down at the paper, shoulders slumping and brow furrowing. "W-well, I mean, I guess I do spend a lot more time drawing machines- but…" He trailed off again, looking for all the world like some sort of awkwardly tall, fedora-wearing puppy that had been kicked in the face.

The Lorax surveyed this for another moment. Then he sighed and reached out to take the paper again, surveying it. "…You did good on the mustache," he finally admitted. "And my claws look pretty good."

This was all it took for the Once-ler's face to light up, a grin spreading across his face. "Really!" He exclaimed.

There was a moment of silence as the Lorax took in that face, watched that smile light up everything around it. He could spot the bit of desperation behind it all, the hope for acceptance that colored everything the inventor did, the whole blatant bid for attention coming forth loud and clear. There was a whole lot he could have said right then- he could have crushed it, he could have reminded the Once-ler that his talents really did lie in the whole inventing and singing business, should have reminded him that he really didn't have to try so hard.

But that smile was real, honest, and so bright it could have made the sun wince. Who was the Lorax to step on that?

"…Yeah," the creature finally murmured as he folded up the picture and set it aside. "You did good kid. Definitely a point in your favor, I'm keeping it."

"Really? Awesome!" The Once-ler exclaimed as he punched a fist in the air. "I got you to _like_ something, that's- wait a second." His grin dimmed down into a sly sort of smile, and the young man reached over to lightly nudge his companion with his elbow. "So does that mean points are good things?"

"What?" The Lorax blinked in confusion.

"Well, you've got that whole system and you gave me a point for the pancakes the other day… so that must mean I'm winning you over!" Satisfied with this conclusion, the young man nodded to himself and sat back in the grass, still grinning.

"Hey, hey, don't get carried away!" The Lorax growled. "I still don't like you, brat!"

The inventor snickered as he picked up the pad of paper and began to doodle again. "Whatever you say, you furry chicken nugget," he drawled.

His companion glared at him for another moment, then gave a huff and settled back down the rock. He supposed in the end it really didn't matter- let the Once-ler think he was actually wanted, maybe it'd be a good thing. He was still the most annoying thing in the valley, and the creature intended to hold him to that along with all the other flaws. The inventions were still a pain and the kid had no sense of respect for nature, he was selfish and vain and honestly a bit of a jerk.

However, as the Lorax spared a glance at the picture, he couldn't help but smile. Because yes, the kid was a jerk, but admittedly he was growing on him.

Not that he'd ever admit it.


	5. Gold Star for Truffula Fruit Salsa

**-The Three Strike-Point-Flag System-**

**A Lorax Fanfic Series by Digitaldreamer**

**V: Gold Star For Truffula Fruit Salsa**

_Okay, so I full on admit that I wrote this one just because this damn movie has given me an awful craving for pancakes, there is very little actually connected to the Lorax's "system" in this. Oh well. Add that to a desperate wish for fruit salsa and well, this is what happened. It was also written because I really wanted to cover some of the Once-ler's better points- as selfish as he can be, he can also be very generous, so I wanted to go into that. Plus a bit of headcanon backstory. Which there will be more of. I'm sure you're thrilled._

_Though let's face it, my true love is always gonna be boring crap like the Once-ler's daily life and him and the Lorax falling into this weird odd couple roommate thing. Don't judge me._

_Anyway, uh, just warning you guys, I'm currently dealing with a truly hellish pack of finals right now. As such, these are gonna be a bit slow coming for awhile. Juuust letting you know~!_

_Crits and comments are greatly appreciated!_

* * *

><p>To say the days were hectic in the Once-ler's tent would be a lie. Or at least, that was the case if you were one of the many animal squatters whom had taken up residence in the young man's home. Indeed, most of them didn't get up before noon, if not later, and when they did concerns primarily boiled down to just how many shenanigans could be fit into the remaining hours.<p>

For the Once-ler, however, things were a different story.

He'd given up on the whole "cleaning" business quite early on. There was just no point in sweeping up piles of feathers and scrubbing away bar-ba-loot prints if it was all going to return in an instant. Dishes were also becoming a rare commodity- it didn't matter how much he washed out that bowl, it was never going to stop being a nest for _somebody_. He'd willingly forgotten the concept of silverware after he spotted a hummingfish using his spoons for oars and making his bed was simply out of the question. In spite of this, however, there was more than enough to do.

While his tent was certainly a mess, the clothes he went out in were an entirely different matter. Thus there was always the issue of laundry to wash and hang, and inevitably when he started he always found himself with multiple bar-ba-loots lining up for the suds. He wasn't quite sure why they seemed to enjoy the whole cleaning business, seeing how their other hobbies seemed to include mud-rolling and dirt fights, but it did little to change the fact that a ten-minute laundry scrub quickly became valley bath time with a line going all the way up the hill. Add this to things like feeding and hanging out with Melvin (whom made a lovely companion if only for the lack of sarcastic commentary over his every move), adjusting the tires on his cart and the various fur-gummed fixtures of his tent. Then came the everyday adventures of rescuing Pipsqeuak from the taller trees, providing input on hummingfish songs and working on that_ damn_ birdhouse he was sorely regretting promising and the Once-ler's days were looking fairly full indeed.

The thing that made him busiest, however, was cooking. The marshmallows, as it turned out, had kicked off a junk food feeding frenzy amongst the animals. The Once-ler had packed supplies and cooking utensils for two, but most days he found himself cooking for far more. Each morning was met with pancakes by the dozens and wildberry syrup, garnished with marshmallows for those with more of a sweet tooth. He made truffula fruit salads and medleys, carrot juice for Melvin and far too many pies. The green eggs and ham hadn't gone over well, but hey, they couldn't all be winners.

With this in`mind, it was hardly a surprise when he found himself bustling away in the kitchen one afternoon. The sound of sizzling pancake batter filled the air, mixing with the rhythmic thuds of a knife against a battered cutting board. The young man hummed to himself as he scraped the last few pieces of truffula fruit into a bowl, then did a sort of spinning turn so as to properly flip the last pancake onto a plate.

"Annnd done~!" He declared proudly as he deftly switched off the stove.

"Eh?" The Lorax glanced up from his spot at the tiny kitchen table, then shrugged before folding up the newspaper he'd been reading. "'Bout time, I'm starvin'."

"You're always starving," The Once-ler said dryly as he weaved around several clamoring animals, giving a half-hearted wave with his spatula in an effort to clear his path. "Hey, hey, relax guys, you're gonna have to sit down and wait your turn like everyone else."

"Hmph," The Lorax gave a snort as he set the newspaper aside. "Well, someone's gotta eat what you make and obviously it ain't gonna be _you_, Slenderman." As he spoke, the creature shoved his plate across the battered old wood. As long as he didn't move it too quickly, there wouldn't be splinters in his food this time- or so he hoped.

"You're just jealous because my stunning, natural figure doesn't involve a furry potbelly," His companion drawled as he flipped a pancake onto the waiting plate, not even looking at it. His focus was on the bowl filled with brightly colored fruit, which he carefully set upon the table with the usual syrup before turning to a bar-ba-loot leaping at his shin. "All right, all right, relax, here you go!" He huffed as he dropped a pancake into the creature's waiting paws.

The Lorax ignored the usual mid-afternoon rush, caterpillar-like brows furrowing as he eyed the new bowl. "The heck is that?"

"Hm?" The Once-ler glanced up from the window, where he was passing a pancake to Melvin. Then he grinned. "Ah, that! That's my new Truffula Fruit salsa. It's fresh, it's healthy, and it's made from a variety of all natural herbs and spices~! You can try it on pancakes, you can try it on chips, you can try it by itself if you really wish~! It's guaranteed to add a bit of zip to your day, so-"

"All right, all right, you can stop," His furry friend groaned, waving a claw in the air before reaching for the serving spoon. "You don't need t' give me the sales pitch, I'll give it a shot."

"Hey, you wouldn't even_ try_ the oatmeal the other day," the inventor grumbled as he poked hopefully at one of the quieter swomme-swans. "I can never be sure when your 'picky about everything' crap is gonna come into play- come buddy, eat up, it's not gonna bite you."

The Lorax snorted as he dumped a large helping of the salsa onto the waiting pancakes. "It was oatmeal, I had t' reject _that_ on principle."

"But you liked it when you finally ate i-" The statement was cut off by a startled yelp from Pipsqueak. Blue eyes widened and the Once-ler immediately rushed across the tent to the squirming bar-ba-loot. "Oh geez Pipsqueak I'm sorry! I should have warned you that was spicy! Here, I made you some marshmallow topping, it's your favorite, remember?"

Two bright, shimmering pools of sadness gaped up at the Once-ler for a moment, only be quickly replaced by obvious glee when the marshmellow-topped pancakes were thrust before the waiting bar-ba-loot. Pipsqueak snatched up the plate, hopped off the seat he'd stolen and toddled away, munching happily.

The Once-ler watched him go, then gave a sigh as he flopped into the now free chair. "Phew," he muttered, wiping his hands against the now stained pink apron tied around his waist. "Crisis averted. You liking the pancakes, Melvin?" His call was meant by a groan of approval, 'causing the young man to smirk. "Melvin's favorite stuff is spicy."

"'Course it is," The Lorax drawled as he finally took a bite of the pancakes. He chewed thoughtfully, then gave a nod. "Hey, this is actually pretty good. More sugar than anythin' else though, I don't get why Pipsqueak thinks it's too much. You've got way too much of a sweet tooth, Beanpole."

The young man across from him grinned as he dolloped a large pile of fruit onto his pancakes. "I told you so."

"Yeah yeah, don't get too excited. Keep it up and that slim, girlish figure o' yours'll be gone," His friend muttered as he took another bite. "'M pretty sure this is the best these guys have ever eaten though, so I can't exactly complain. Definitely worth a Gold Star. Where'd you learn t' make this stuff anyway?"

At this question, the Once-ler gave a shrug. "Eh, around. My dad did most of the cooking when I was little- mom was always too busy with something or other. Like sleeping. But my dad did _everything_! He could shine shoes, he could invent, he could play music, and _man_ could he cook! Anyway, he taught me, and then…" The inventor trailed off at this, shifting in his seat. "When he left someone had to take over, so I just kind of did. That's how it's always been," His shoulders seemed to drop a fraction at this, but the act of shoveling pancakes into his mouth largely hid it.

He received a quirked eyebrow in response. "You cook for your whole family?"

"Yeah, every day! I mean, if I don't, who will?" The Once-ler chirped, then gave a small chuckle. "Well, I used to. I came up with a lot of different recipes because I got sick of eating the same thing all the time and I think Melvin was getting sick of it too- but I like this better. I mean, I actually get to _try_ my own stuff now!"

"…Shouldn't feeding your family involve less food than feeding an entire valley full o' animals?"

"You'd think," The Once-ler snorted. He then seemed to realize what he said, blinked, then gave a nervous laugh, shoulders hunching to his reddening ears as he began to verbally backpedal. "Well, my Aunt eats a lot, that's all. There's nothing wrong with that, she's just big-boned. And I always had marshmallows or whatever left over, so it's not like I starved or anything. Besides, my mom's favorite foods have all these nasty cheeses and I'm not really a fan so I wasn't missing out on… much… and I mean, someone had to do this stuff. Someone had to look after them after dad left and I just..." He trailed off for a moment, then abruptly shoved more food into his mouth, as if trying to stem the abrupt stream of far too much information.

His friend studied him from across the table, frowning. There was a silence filled only by the clattering of plates and the rumblings of various animals as the Once-ler devoured his food, then rose with a hearty squeak from his battered chair. There was a heavy _bang_ as his knee connected with the table top, eliciting a tiny yelp of pain from the man. He grimaced for a moment, then hobbled back over to the sink like an injured giraffe, wincing. "R-right, well, I've gotta do dishes, so if you guys wanna just hand stuff over and then head out, I'll get to it!" He called out, words coming out so quickly it was a miracle he didn't trip over them as well.

The Lorax watched him for another moment, sitting in silence as he watched the inventor's shoulders droop. Green eyes flicked to Pipsqueak, whom looked just as confused. Finally, the orange-furred creature rolled his eyes and snatched up his plate. "You're hopeless," he muttered as he grabbed several more empty plates, then hopped off of the table to patter across the floor.

There was a nervous sort of laugh from the Once-ler. "This from a furbag who never cooks for himself? You should…" He trailed off as he heard the sound of the familiar, rickety lower drawer being pulled open, followed by several grunts. Finally the pile of dirty plates was shoved onto the counter. "Whaaat are you doing?" The young man asked slowly as he watched the Lorax clamber up with the plates.

He received an eyeroll in response as the creature snatched up a ragged dishtowel. "What does it look like I'm doin', genius? Get scrubbing so I can dry."

The Once-ler blinked in obvious confusion. "But I… didn't ask for help."

"I'm aware," The Lorax replied gruffly.

"But… no one ever helps me do dishes," The inventor mumbled. "Ever."

"Hey, I _said_ get scrubbing!" His friend growled as he reached over to whack the man harmlessly in the shoulder. "Why d'ya gotta make this more complicated than it has t' be? Everyone else'll get the plates- oi, yeah, you guys heard me! Go!"

There was a flurry of warbling calls and grumbles from the animals as they rose grudgingly from their places and began to stumble around the tent, picking up dishes as they went. The Once-ler watched them all go, brow furrowing, before turning to the sink and flipping the tap on. The pump gave a horrible gurgling noise as it fought to pull up water from the river, only relinquishing the liquid when the Once-ler bopped it with a mixing spoon. "Weren't you mad at me for asking for help earlier?" The young man asked over the sound of rushing water.

The Lorax gave a huff, breath sending tufts of his mustache going every which way as he turned to take a plate from a bar-ba-loot. "There's a difference between manipulating these guys for your every whim and asking for help, idiot. You're always either running around grabbing everythin ' without asking or bending over backwards t' please everybody else. Living's about give n' take, you just gotta learn to balance."

His charge stared at him for a moment. Then a very slow, sly smile edged across his face. "Wow. No tree metaphor this time, I'm impressed," he said as he grabbed the dish soap bottle, then squirted some into the sink. "Do you just keep a list of those in case you need to dispense some sort of sage nature spirit wisdom?"

"I'm gonna dispense of a few of your teeth if ya don't turn the stupid tap off, Everest," The Lorax growled. "You've got enough, leave some for the hummingfish."

"All right, all right," The Once-ler laughed as he flipped the pump off and dunked a plate into the water. The two worked in companionable silence for another moment, one cleaning while the other dried, stacks of dishes piling beside them as the rest of the tent bustled about cleaning. After a bit, the inventor spoke up again. "Hey… thanks," he murmured. "I meant it when I said no one ever helps me with this stuff."

The creature beside him snorted. "Don't get sappy on me, Beanpole. It's no big deal… but you're welcome."

Again, silence.

"So did you mean it about the whole Gold Star thing?"

"Now you're just pushin' it, brat."


	6. Strike Two

**The Three Strike-Point-Flag System**

**A Lorax Fanfic Series by Digitaldreamer**

**VI: Strike Two**

_Neeeeh. Yet another one I had a fight with- I really hate when I don't have time to just write this stuff all in one shot, because going on and off means I lose steam and hate what I've done by the end. But hey, I feel like I got a few halfway decent lines here, so I guess it's fine even if it's not my best._

So uh, yeah. Wanted to get something a bit more dramatic in here- because y'know, foreshadowing. I love foreshadowing. I also admit I like writing angry arguments. Granted, I'm a bit worried this is too dramatic and my ideas didn't get across, but... eh. Well, uh, tell me what you guys think please!

* * *

><p>"I just can't <em>believe<em> you!"

The Once-ler visibly cringed at these words, long body very nearly curling in on itself. The Lorax may have been only two feet tall, but something about the whole situation was making the young man feel a lot smaller in comparison. His shoulders hunched their way up to his reddening ears, face scrunching into a wince. His mouth opened to speak, but his tongue got caught in his throat. This was probably for the best, as the lecture didn't seem to be anywhere near done.

"I know trees with less useless fluff at the top! Do ya just not_ think_ or are you flat out incapable of it?" The Lorax barked as he paced back and forth, orange claws flung in the air as he ranted. "Or is it just a human thing? Gee, here's an ecosystem that's running perfectly fine without my influence, I think I'll just take whatever I want and stomp all over it!" His words were punctuated with a groan from a nearby hummingfish, whom looked about as green as the grass it had flopped into.

At this groan the Once-ler finally managed to work out a mumble, looking to his scuffed shoes as he spoke. "It's not like I _meant_ to do it…"

"No, course you didn't!" His companion snapped."Ya never _mean_ t' do this, Beanpole, you just _do_!"

Those words were a bit too familiar, a bit too close to home, and it was this that seemed to dig that urge for self-defense out from beneath the shame. It poked its head up, insistent, a quiet little voice that manifested as a slight frown and a squaring of shoulders as the Once-ler brought himself back up to his regular height.

"Hey, that's not fair… I mean, how was I supposed to know that chocolate was gonna make them all sick?" He gestured wildly to the valley floor around them. The hills were littered with groaning animals like some sort of war zone. Bar-ba-loots clutched violently at their stomachs, swomme-swans let out wheezing whines like dying bicycle horns, hummingfish lolled near-lifelessly upon the grass and gargled. Wrappers and bits of uneaten chocolate dotted the valley floor, melting in the afternoon sun.

Okay, yeah, it looked pretty bad- he wasn't going to deny that. But he was all too used to disaster being heaped on his shoulders for smaller reasons and he didn't intend to deal with it again if he could help it.

"You're a _farm boy_, use your damn brain! Ya can't give chocolate t' dogs, the heck would all these guys be any different for?" The Lorax snapped as he patted a moaning swan on the back, then grimaced as the thing gave a honk and rushed away to be violently ill somewhere else.

"Gee, I don't know, maybe because they eat everything else without a problem?" The Once-ler exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air at the sheer ridiculousness of the statement. "You can't expect me to know that they can't eat chocolate when they've been eating enough marshmallows to make an entire Stay-Puffed Marshmallow Man! I mean, that one bar-ba-loot practically _lives_ in my fridge, you can't tell me that's more healthy than a bite of chocolate!"

The Lorax glared at him in silence for another moment. Then he shook his head and went back to tending to another swan, carefully helping the creature keep its head up as it wheezed.

This lack of response only made the Once-ler sputter- he knew he was being ignored, he had more than enough experience with that as well. "Oh come _on_," the young man whined as he stumbled down the hill after the supposed nature spirit. "You can't pin this all on me anyway- I didn't know and it was _Pipsqueak_ who asked in the first place!"

At these words those green eyes did shift to him again, narrowed and so skeptical that it almost physically hurt. "That so?"

"Y… yeah," The Once-ler's tone was hesitant- the glare was enough to make him wonder if continuing this conversation was in his best interests. He'd already started though, so there was no point in leaving it now. "I mean, uh, Melvin and I were celebrating- we had way less tomatoes thrown at us than usual, real red letter day! Anyway, I bought some chocolate to celebrate, and then Pipsqueak was all- you know! All precious moments-y, and I couldn't say no to that, no one can!"

The Lorax snorted at this, then turned back to the swan. "No, that's just you. You're the one who couldn't say no if your life depended on it."

"Hey, that is_ so_ not true!" The young man was indignant now, lower lip poking out in a pout. "I am fully capable of saying 'no'! I-I mean, yeah, there was that one time when the twins stole my bike, but I'm pretty sure they needed it! And mom is _mom_, so that's a whole different story. And sure, Melvin eats more than his share of the sandwich sometimes but he's the one doing most of the walking so it makes sense, and… and…" The Once-ler trailed off as he caught the Lorax's gaze, then scowled. "Look, that does not change the fact that this had nothing to do with me! Pipsqueak's the one who asked and I don't see you dumping all two feet of your orange furry rage on him!"

The Lorax gave a shrug as he stood and began moving down the hill."Pipsqueak's a cub. He don't know any better."

"Neither did I, that's what I'm _saying_!" His companion complained as he followed along, only to stop when he became the recipient of another glare.

"That's not how it works. _You_ are supposed to be the smart one here," The Lorax snapped, punctuating this by jabbing a claw into the young man's shin. "_You_ are the supposed genius,_ you_ come up with a new invention every day. If _you_ are gonna go around claiming you're so smart, then yeah, I'm gonna hold _you_ t' that expectation!" Each emphasis was punctuated with another jab, finally ending in a growl that sounded almost animalistic in nature. He then pulled back, simply glaring at the Once-ler for a moment.

Finally he turned away, focusing on a whimpering Pipsqueak. The Lorax's tone was matter-of-fact, somewhat cold as he began tending to the tiniest bar-ba-loot, . "Sure, you didn't mean t' get them sick," he muttered. "Of course you didn't. But you're the one who shoulda known better, and that makes you responsible."

The Once-ler watched the creature for a moment, observed his bent orange back, felt his hands clench unconsciously into fists at his sides. There was logic to what his friend was saying, he knew that, he'd have been an idiot to not know that. Still there was that anger, however, that righteous little sense of _something_ that refused to admit there'd been anything wrong at all. He'd dealt with enough crap already.

"This isn't fair!" He exclaimed, and something about those words was enough to unstop the dam. "I'm only human, you can't just expect me to get everything right! It's not like I _knew_ I wasn't supposed to chop down the tree or let the hummingfish have those shears or-or any of that stuff, okay! Whatever, I didn't know, that doesn't make me wrong! A-and besides, the animals aren't my responsibility- where were _you_, Big Bad Guardian of the Forest? Why didn't you speak for the trees or bar-ba-loots or whatever stupid thing you do and _warn me_ instead of chewing me out when it was over? They're all a little sick, big deal, I've had the stomach flu and I'm_ fine_! It's not like I destroyed an entire ecosystem or something!" The last bit came out in a full on roar, echoing through the sky that suddenly seemed impossibly big.

There was a heavy silence after that, and in that moment the Once-ler abruptly felt very aware that he had probably said something wrong. He could recognize the calm before the storm well enough, knew the tell-tale signs of his mother's veritable hurricane, knew damn well that any admission to being wrong would lead to it whether he liked it or not. With that in mind he cringed on reflex when the Lorax turned, fully expecting a wave of verbal abuse.

"Ya just don't get it, do ya?" He'd expected anger. He hadn't expected those green eyes to look so surprisingly sad, hadn't expected the little nuisance to end up looking more like a tired, impossibly old man than a furry annoyance. He'd expected anger, not that exhausted, sad sort of sigh and the slump of tiny shoulders. "No Beanpole, ya didn't chop down the whole forest- and even if ya did, nature's a tough nut t' crack. It'll come back if ya let it. These guys'll be fine, it's not about them."

At these words, the Once-ler gave a sputter. "Wait, it's not? But you said-"

"I wasn't finished!" The Lorax snapped, a bit of his usual temper flaring through. He waited for a second, then gave another sigh as he reached up to rub the spot between his eyes, as if struggling for words. "It's just… it's the root of t' thing, all right? It's not that ya got them all sick- it's not even about the damn trees, which for t' record I'm not letting go. It's 'bout_ respect_. It's about rememberin' there's others besides you, it's about takin' responsibility. I don't expect you t' know everything-_ I_ don't know everythin' and I've been here for a long time. But I _do_ expect you to think about your actions, and if you don't, it won't kill you to be responsible about it."

There was another moment of silence as the Once-ler stood there, seemingly dumbstruck. "I… but I…" He trailed off, then bit his lip. There was a whole lot he wanted to say. So many pleas and insistences, justifications, even apologies. But suddenly all six foot-something of him, all those words and promises, it all seemed like nothing. Anger he could deal with. He was used to defending himself against flat-out anger and passive aggressive ramblings. Up front disappointment, well, that was something else entirely.

So he said nothing, because somehow those apologies refused to leave his throat and he didn't know what else to do.

The Lorax watched him in silence for a moment, then gave another snort. "Look at you- I expected better. Ya do realize this whole time you've been throwin' a tantrum you coulda been helping me, right?" He watched blue eyes widen in surprise, then shook his head. "Nuh uh. Don't look at me like that, it's not happening anymore. I'm nearly done here anyway." With those words he gestured off to the distance, again turning his back on the young man.

"That's Strike Two. Now get outta here, I don't wanna see your face right now."

The Once-ler visibly slumped at this, his whole body seeming to buckle like a tree in the wind. He opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it, then turned and began to wander back toward his tent. The whole situation was all too familiar, reminiscent of days where chickens went unfed, dishes went undone, barns collapsed and the whole thing fell squarely upon his shoulders- solid reminders of every "useless" remark.

Except this time was different. This time there was an "I expected better"- the first time there'd ever _been_ an "I expected" and he'd gone and blown it.

It was at this thought that the Once-ler paused, glanced back at the fallen animals. "Sorry," he finally mumbled over his shoulder. There was no reply, and so with a sigh he shoved his hands into his pockets and kept walking.

Maybe tomorrow would be better


	7. Don't Give Up At Halftime

**The Three Strike-Point-Flag System**

**A Lorax Fanfic Series by Digitaldreamer  
><strong>

**VII: Don't Give Up at Halftime  
><strong>

* * *

><p><em>Phew, finally!<em>

_Sorry this one took so long folks- as I mentioned before, finals are a bitch. But hey, things are finally relaxing a bit, so here's chapter seven. On that note, this one's our halfway point, so yaaay! You know what that means!  
><em>

_That's right, everything after this is gonna be horribly depressing. Goody! I hope you all enjoyed the fluff because it's alllll downhil from here. On that note, have some Once-ler past, some foreshadowing and the most bromance to ever bromance.  
><em>

* * *

><p>"<em>It's empty in the valley of your heart, the sun it rises slowly as you walk…<em>"

The Once-ler's voice came out in a murmur that was almost more breath than voice, a stark contrast to its usual booming quality. Long fingers traced their way across guitar strings, plucking them absently with seemingly no obvious melody in mind. He faded between half-formed evocative choruses and simple notes, fingers occasionally twisting an awkward squeak from the strings. This would result in him shoving the long neck of the instrument down so he could reach a notebook on the floor, where he would cross off several lines of something or other before returning to his regular position.

The sounds of his work thrummed through the otherwise quiet tent, punctuated by the occasional snore from a variety of snoozing animals. Most of the valley creatures were early to bed and early to rise, the Once-ler had long ago accepted that if he wanted to sleep in his own bed, he wasn't going to sleep at a reasonable hour ever again. Fortunately, he didn't seem to mind the fact that he'd surrendered his pillows for the wood floor tonight, his only discomfort coming in the form of the occasional splinter.

Again his fingers traced across the guitar strings, plucking them absently for a moment before settling into a peaceful sort of strum. After a few seconds of this, there was a hum from the bed. "Sounds good."

There was another squeak from old guitar strings as the Once-ler blinked. His eyes flicked to the furry orange lump nested into his old quilt, brow furrowing. "Really?"

This elicited a snort from the Lorax as he rolled over, claw flopping lazily across his stomach. "Yeah, really. Sounds good, you should work wit' that instead of the stupid Thneed song."

He received a soft chuckle at this, the young man keeping his tone quiet so as to avoid rousing the swomme-swan snoozing on his desk. "Ballads don't exactly sell anything, Meatloaf," he murmured as he flipped a page of the notebook.

"So what?" The Lorax gave a yawn and scratched himself below the chin. "Just do it anyway. People would like it."

Now the Once-ler was just looking confused, brow furrowing. "Are you okay? You're actually being nice to me. You're not sick or something, are you?"

Green eyes flicked up to him before the creature on the bed gave an eyeroll. "Don't be stupid. I've been around for a long time, I'm not gonna sit here and ignore talent when I see it. Nothing personal, just how it is." With those words the Lorax flopped back and rolled onto his side, as if sealing the conversation closed.

After a moment of silence, however, the Once-ler let out another mumble. "…Really?"

"Oh for the love of-" The Lorax gave a growl as he sat up. "I told, you, yes, it sounds great. It sounds fan-flippin'-tastic, you're a talented kid, now stop fishing for compliments and let me-" Here the creature paused, brow furrowing as he finally met the young man's eyes. "…What?"

At these words the Once-ler blinked before his blue eyes dropped to the wood floor, as if he realized he'd been caught doing something wrong. "Sorry, sorry," he muttered as he rubbed his arm. The cool spring night abruptly felt quite warm. "It's just… no one's ever said anything like that to me, that's all."

"Seriously?" Those furry eyebrows were pressed together into this odd, poofy yellow line now, the Lorax's expression baffled. "Then what's with the ridiculous sense of over-importance? I just thought someone had gone and told ya you were special too many times as a kid or whatever."

The Once-ler outright laughed at that as he gave the strings of his guitar another strum. "Hardly," he said, and the bitterness in his tone was like bile at the edge of a deep, unrelentingsea. "I don't think my mom has praised me in at least fifteen years- no one has. Usually it's just reminders that I'm useless and then yelling at me to go fix the Wash for the millionth time."

"…That's awful."

Those blue eyes blinked in surprise before the inventor shook his head. "N-no, I mean… she means well. She got different after dad left, that's all, and she was just…" The Once-ler trailed off, then abruptly let loose several strums of his guitar, a harsh, grating note that stirred several hummingfish. The young man winced and crouched down over the instrument, as if suddenly aware there was no way for him to cover those awkward words up with another show.

And in a way it was, because suddenly the Lorax's eyes were on him. The Once-ler felt like he'd just been put on stage and had forgotten whatever routine he had planned. "What happened with your dad?" There was the question, the go ahead, and it was like hanging over the edge of those dark, bile-infested waters and all he wanted to do was back as far away as he could.

But when he opened his mouth, the wave came anyway, unbidden and tasting of coffee grounds and grit.

"He…" The young man paused, then gave a sigh as he reached up to brush his bangs out of his eyes. "Dad could do anything, you know? He was an inventor and a musician and a salesman and he just did _everything_. He always said he was gonna make it big and get the whole family out of the middle of nowhere- me, mom, everyone. I think after her first husband my mom was glad to listen to anything that would give her some kind of hope."

Here he paused, fiddling absently with his guitar. "But my dad never made it. He tried loads of things- The Untoaster, the Nuclearator, the Thing-a-Majig… he used what little money we had making the things and producing records and in the end it never amounted to anything. My mom was stuck working constantly to try to keep us afloat and she got more and more fed up… and well, one day he finally just couldn't deal with her and left, I guess."

A heavy sigh bubbled up from his throat and his fingers slid across the strings of the guitar, leaving an awful squeak in their wake. "To this day I don't really know why. I think it was my mom… she just got so bitter, and he was so optimistic and I just think he got sick of her. Or maybe he got sick of me- I really don't know. But mom got sick of me, so it would make sense that he would too." His smile was plaster-of-paris fake by this point, tinged with a bitterness ordinarily held back by glittering ideals.

He didn't have to look to know the Lorax's eyes were on him, could imagine the furrowed brow well enough. "What d'ya mean, got sick of you?"

There was the question, and the young man winced because he wasn't comfortable with just how easily these words were hitting home tonight. Add that to those bitter words from his own mouth and he felt a strange mixture of guilt and panic as he looked back to the creature on his bed. "I-I can't say for sure," he insisted, lips twitching like arms trying to hold back a dam. "I mean, I could be wrong. But I look just like my dad and he and I were always really similar, and I think my mom just can't stand being reminded of him. I mean, not that I'm helping anything- the guitar and the hat were his, so she wanted to get rid of them. I said no- and it's not like I don't get why she doesn't like them. Of course being reminded of him would hurt, I don't blame her! But just…" He let out another tense breath before reaching up to rub the back of his neck.

"My dad taught me so much. He was gone a lot, but when he was he always told me I was the man of the house- not Brett and Chett, _me_. He always told me to watch after mom, and I just… I know he's not coming back. But I promised… that's what brought me out here in the first place." God, there were so many words tonight, way too many, but still there were coming, rushed now, as if the dam had shattered and words were spilling out of his great big mouth like water. "I-I don't think she gets that, that's all- my mom, I mean. I think she's just trying to make sure I don't end up like my dad and that's why she keeps reminding me I'm useless and my ideas won't amount to anything, but I just want to make her happy. I just want to see her smile again and maybe she'll like me again but she's probably right and I probably won't and she…"

The Once-ler finally trailed off, letting out a shaky breath. His throat, once so open, now felt constricted as he shifted his gaze to the golden yellow light of the ceiling. Right, this was embarrassing- why couldn't he have gone and frozen up earlier? "I know she means well. I know dad did too. But sometimes I think maybe neither of them ever liked me. So maybe I…"

At last he fell silent, fingers tightening into a death grip on the neck of the guitar, gaze locked on the ceiling as he fought to swallow. The silence seemed to stretch on forever, heavy and awkward, and all he could think was how this was the first time he'd spoken of it in years- and it was to the _Lorax _of all creatures. He expected mocking, because that was how this relationship worked- how _any _relationship for him worked. Smile, laugh, trade barbs to keep it all at arm's length, and never say a negative word that could be used against you.

"No parent could ever hate their kid, Beanpole," The Lorax had finally broken the silence, and his voice was so gentle that the young man had to blink in surprise. "I'm sure your mom has issues and your dad did too- but hate you? I doubt _that_."

Blue eyes shifted from the ceiling to meet the creature's gaze, brow furrowing in confusion. He'd expected mocking, not for the Lorax to look so surprisingly sad and understanding. The Once-ler blinked again before that familiar smile flicked into place for a moment, unbidden, like a mask. "And how would you know that, Mustache? What, do you have a bunch of fuzzy little nature spirit pups that you never mentioned?"

The scowl came back as well and the Lorax quirked a brow at him, a low growl bubbling up from his throat. "Oi, I'm tryin' to be understanding, cut that out. For the record, _no_, I'm the one and only Lorax, thanks. I've just seen enough to know some things, that's all."

"Uh huh," The young man chuckled and shook his head. Silence fell over the tent again, and his shoulders slumped with the weight of it. "Maybe she doesn't hate me," he murmured. "But she was right. I'm a failure after all, just like dad."

He got a pillow thrown at his head for that, eliciting a yelp as the Once-ler grabbed the pillow and forced it down in time to meet a green-eyed glare.

"I draw t' line at at pity parties. The last thing ya are is a failure, now cut that out," the Lorax growled, jabbing a claw in his direction.

The young man blinked in surprise again before his brow furrowed, gaze going to the pillow in his hands. "But… you were right. That's good for you, isn't it?" he said as he let the thing drop and slide across the slightly chipped surface of his guitar. "I mean… the thneed isn't catching on. It's stupid- the stupidest thing I've ever come up with, and trust me, that's saying something."

"If you keep tha' up, I'm gonna hit with you another pillow," his friend snapped. "Now look, we've been over this. Not that I care about the thing, but you're just tryin' too hard. Give it time." His words felt final enough, but the Once-ler still had the air of an absurdly tall kicked puppy. The creature watched him for a moment, then gave a sigh before reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "For the love of… look, even if the thneed don't work, you've got other ideas, right? Just keep tryin', I'm sure someone's bound t' want a coconut cream pie that's also a sweater or whatever else ya come up with."

"Maybe…" The Once-ler's tone was tentative, unsure, shoulders hunched far more than necessary as he set the pillow aside.

"Oh, shush, you're fine. The waterslide was a good one, I'll admit it," the Lorax huffed as he sat up on the bed. Apparently he was determined to nip this depression in the bud- that, or he was sick of the self-depreciating 'Nobody Needs a Thneed" after it had become such a hit with the hummingfish. "Besides, even if the inventing thing never pans out, you've got other stuff. I mean, even I can tell you're a whiz with the music thing, right? Why not just become a musician or whatever?"

This elicited a bitter laugh from the Once-ler, plucking absently at the guitar strings again. "Oh yeah, I'll go from inventor to traveling street musician. _That's_ a gig that pays well. If I'm really lucky maybe I can send my mom absolutely nothing."

The Lorax snorted, exhaled hair sending his mustache every which way. "All right, so it wouldn't be glamorous. You never know though. You just gotta keep trying, that's all."

Again came that sigh. "Maybe. I dunno. All I know is this isn't working and I'm not quite sure what I'll do when it finally falls through. I dunno if I can handle facing mom when I head home…" The inventor winced as he rubbed the back of his neck, his mother's words abruptly all too clear in his mind. To be subject to that again, forever a reminder of his father's supposed stamp of failure upon their lives, that almost seemed like too much to bear.

There was a silence that stretched through the tent, heavy with the idea of home and punctuated only with the occasional bar-ba-loot snore. Finally the Lorax spoke up, oddly quiet and lacking in his usual bluster. "Well, y'know… ya could always stay."

"What?" The inventor's gaze went from the battered guitar to the nature gaurdian, eyes widening.

The Lorax huffed as he pointedly looked away, shifting awkwardly on the bed. "You heard me. I mean, you've kept your promise and you ain't causing any harm- besides, your record's pretty good, even with all the flags on it. It's been kinda nice to have a helping hand around here anyway… and besides, I doubt Pipsqueak'd let you leave anyway," he added, gesturing to the creature nestled into the blankets beside him. "Kid _adores_ ya- dunno why, but there you go. Just stick around."

The Once-ler gaped at him for another moment, clearly still shocked. He then cleared his throat, reaching down to awkwardly adjust his guitar strings. "I… uh… um… well, admittedly it's a good offer, I like it here. But what am I gonna do about money? I can't just live off of truffula fruit."

He recieved a snort at this. "I didn't say ya had t' give up on your dreams, genius. Keep inventin' and sellin' or whatever- you'll just have a home t' come back to, that's all."

At these words the Once-ler felt his throat constrict, felt abruptly impossibly aware of the warm golden glow of the lamp and the scratchy wood floor beneath him. Everything seemed clear and crisp and amidst it all was that odd mixture of surprise and contentment. The term "home" was one he was used to, certainly, but to have it actually mean something- a place with someone who cared for him and liked him for who he was and wanted him there -that was something else entirely.

"…Okay," he finally murmured, the word so small and quiet it seemed to lack confidence in its own existence. The young man cleared his throat and tried again. 'Okay," he said with a nod, a tentative smile spreading across his face. "I'll stay."

He could have sworn he saw that mustache actually perk up a fraction. "Really?"

"Yeah," The Once-ler nodded, his voice going stronger as he spoke, the decision seemingly cementing in his words. "I'll stay- it seems like you need me anyway. I mean, seriously, what kind of wild animals actually sleep _outside_?" He snickered a bit at this before he gave a yawn and stretched his arms over his head. He then moved to push his guitar aside, setting it lovingly against the wall. "Besides, I'm sure you'd miss me."

"Ey, don't go making assumptions," The Lorax growled. He started out puffing up like an angry squirrel, only to abruptly give a loud, long yawn. He then shook his head, rubbing at drooping eyes. "I still don't like you, I just recognize talent when I see it. Just 'cause I speak for them don't mean I share everybody's freakish fascination with your hipster crap. They probably all jus' like you 'cause you're so damn tall, it's like a freak show."

"Sure, sure," His charge drawled as he gently nudged a swomme-swan nestled in his pajama drawer aside, being careful not to wake it. "I'm still not sure what I'm gonna do about the thneed," he finally admitted, brow furrowing as he tugged at a loose pajama pant leg in an attempt to free it. "I mean, maybe it'll catch on but I doubt it."

This elicited a groan from the Lorax as he flopped back onto the bed. "This is what I get for sayin' anything- for the last time kid, I don't wanna hear about your damn thneed. You're lucky your record's good, Everest- now shut up, it's midnight anyway."

"I dunno if I can keep going with the town either, I'm kind of infamous there," the Once-ler continued as if he hadn't heard as he finally tugged the pajama bottoms free. He held them for a minute, expression pensive, then let out a sigh before a surprisingly calm smile flitted into place. "Maybe that's all right after all."

"Eh?" The Lorax's questioning tone was heavy with sleep, the creature clearly drifting off as he nestled into the aged comforter.

"The thneed… maybe it's okay if it doesn't catch on," The Once-ler said as he pulled his pajama shirt free as well, reaching over to pat the swan absently on the head so as to lull it back to sleep. "There's always something else…. it still kind of sucks that the thneed failed though. I mean, I thought for sure it'd be what everybody needs…" His expression became a thoughtful frown as his eyes flicked to the fluffy pink thing, which a bar-ba-loot was currently using as a pillow.

"Maybe it is," The Lorax grumbled. "Jus' give it time."

He received a small chuckle at that as the young man glanced back to the creature snoozing on the bed and flashed a knowing grin. "You've got an awful lot of faith in me for an angry furry cheez-it who doesn't like me."

"Told ya already, just tellin' like it is- I still dun' like you," the furred creature grumbled. "Now _shut up_ before I bring t' wrath of nature down on your skinny butt."

The Once-ler outright laughed at this, shaking it head. Then he gave a nod and puffed out his chest. "Well, you're right. I can't give up yet- I'll give it one more day. If it doesn't work, I'll just come back here and stay for awhile." With those words he peeled off his white undershirt and began to change, humming cheerily under his breath.

"Joy." The Lorax's tone was flat as he rolled over. "I can hardly contain my excitement. Now shut up and let me sleep, this heart t' heart thing is over."

"Heart to heart implies you have one," The Once-ler drawled teasingly as he finished buttoning up his pajama shirt. When he received no reply, he let out a chuckle and stepped over a pile of snoozing hummingfish to flip off the lamp. Just before doing so, however, he paused to glance over his tent.

Hummingfish lay in piles on the floor and curled up in what had once been drinking glasses. He could spot several swomme-swan nests forming on top of the fridge and the various lamps, and he swore he saw a bar-ba-loot paw poking out of a cupboard door. His bed was already so full of critters that he had no idea how he was going to fit into it himself- that was what had demoted him to guitar-playing on the floor in the first place. He could see Melvin snoozing outside, his head dipping low, the soft noise of his snores joining the crickets outside. The glow of the lamp seemed fitting, a golden warm contrast to the comfortable cool of the night air.

It was chaos. But perhaps it was home, and that was worth something.

"One more day," the Once-ler repeated to himself before he flipped off the lamp light. One more day before he let it go, one more day before he had to admit defeat and start all over again, one more day of what was likely to be more tomato throwing and yelling. It was one more day and admittedly the idea hurt, the idea of rejection twisting with the familiar promise of failure and that hope of mom's acceptance forever dangling just out of reach.

But he'd already found acceptance somewhere, and that enough for now.


	8. You're Out of Bounds

**The Three Strike-Point-Flag System**

**A Lorax Fanfic Series by Digitaldreamer  
><strong>

**VIII: You're Out of Bounds  
><strong>

* * *

><p><em>Annnd chapter eight! Wherein we start elaborating on the details of the Once-ler's business, factory life and all that good stuff. I think it'll be fun! Or at least, y'know, I hope so. I had fun writing it.<em>

_My main aim here was to show a bit of the old Once-ler and a bit of the new, as well as give some real substance to Oncie's company. Obviously it was quite glazed over in the movie, so I kind of hoped to give this whole scene a sense of something that could actually happen in said movie.  
><em>

_Hope you guys enjoy!  
><em>

* * *

><p>He hated parties.<p>

Well, all right, hate was a pretty strong word. "Disliked" was probably more accurate, seeing how the Lorax disliked a lot of things. Amongst these things were loud noises, dangerous shenanigans and rough-housing- so given that parties tended to involve all three, this made a lot of sense. Sure, he tolerated the occasional valley bash since there was no real way to say no, and admittedly hummingfish made for a great mariachi band. But there had already been more than enough ridiculousness with the missing bar-ba-loots fiasco and that time the swomme-swans had ended up in a rather spectacular crash, and between those and the hummingfish being ill for days later… and well, the list went on and on.

But this party, well, this was something else entirely.

Hundreds of voices filled the air, jovial laughter and monotonous personal antecedonts mixing together in a melodious, excited buzz. This was punctuated by the scream of a trumpet and the thrum of a guitar, the crash of symbols from a live band on stage. Suits and shimmering evening gowns faded into one another in a peacock's spread, glittering polite smiles matching artistically placed jewels around women's necks. There was the clink of champagne glasses and the occasional rustle of silverware as caterers rushed this way and that, delivering appetizers with flourishes that undoubtedly clashed with their day jobs. Above it all hung a downright gaudy sign, the words "_Congratulations Thneed Inc.!_" written in a glittering emerald.

It was the most pretentious thing the Lorax had ever seen and he honestly wasn't sure how to react. Granted, part of that had to do with entering through one of the open windows, but that was hardly important.

The Lorax toed over the edge of the polished windowsill, brow furrowing as he peered into the crowd. He didn't want to be here period- it was far too loud, far too warm, and far too gaudy for his tastes. But he had a bone to pick, and he could only assume said bone would still be sticking out like a sore thumb.

True to form, he spotted the Once-ler before the young man spotted him. He was leaning against a chair and chatting animatedly with a young woman who seemed to be alternating between enraptured glee and a glazed sort of smile depending on her knowledge of how many eyes were on her. If the Once-ler noticed, he didn't say anything, and judging from his wide grin and sweeping hand-gestures he was halfway through the thneed creation story for the fiftieth time that evening. Clad in a nice dark suit with a striped green tie, the inventor certainly _looked_ the part of a big shot CEO, even with the suit jacket slung over one arm and his top hat slightly askew.

He looked almost normal, really. Sure, the outfit was a bit fancier and the situation hardly fitting, but the smile was familiar enough. The meticulously shined floor seemed like an impossible expanse to trek, however, a gulf that seemed all too wide.

Of course, the Lorax had never been deterred by the impossible. With this thought the orange fluffball took a deep breath, puffed out his chest and promptly shouted. "Oi!" He called out, distinctive voice nearly swallowed by the music.

The Once-ler did seem to hear it, as he blinked in surprise and glanced around. His face split into a brilliant, dazzling grin the instant his gaze fell upon the forest guardian. "Buddy!" He exclaimed as he leaped up from the sloping lean against his chair. "Sorry dear, can I get back to you? Be a doll and go have some champagne, okay? It's all on me- oh, who am I kidding, it's always on me, right? Thanks~!" With those words and a final pat on the girl's arm he pranced away, completely oblivious to her scowl at his back.

He weaved across the floor with a practiced sort of ease, bouncing and bobbing with the music, his long body contorting in this odd sort of twirl as he skidded over to the windowsill. "Heeeeey buddy!" The Once-ler exclaimed as he flung a long arm around the orange creature's shoulders in a single, practiced sort of movement, still beaming from ear to ear. "Long time no see! I'm so glad you could make it!"

The Lorax looked decidedly unimpressed. "Don't give me that, Beanpole, I know ya didn't invite me."

To his credit, the grin only faltered slightly. "Weeeeeelllll _no_," the Once-ler admitted, gaze shifting awkwardly to the side, tongue shoving mumbled excuses from the side of his mouth like a bird shoving unwanted babies from the nest. "Buuut I had nothing to do with that, my Aunt Grizelda and mom were both in charge of the guest list and I guess they just must've missed your name- but hey, you're here now, so what's a missed invitation amongst friends, right!" The last bit was said in the same bright tone as the young man squeezed the Lorax's shoulder and poked him in the fizzy chest, still beaming from ear to ear.

Green eyes surveyed the inventor's wide grin, the half-empty glass in his hand and the tie that was poking awkwardly out of the top of the waistcoat. "You're drunk, ain't ya?" It wasn't really a question, a bar-ba-loot could have caught the alcohol on the young man's breath from a mile off.

"What!" The Once-ler pulled away slightly, frowned, then gave an abrupt laugh. "Noooo… well, okay, maybe a bit. But come on man, lighten up a bit, it's a party!" His long limbs flung excitedly toward the ceiling at these words before he suddenly shoved the Lorax from the windowsill.

"Hey, hey, hands off, what did I tell you about the hands!" The Lorax exclaimed.

"Come on, I'll give you the tour!" His former charge gushed, completely ignoring the protests and laughing all the way. "This right here is the ballroom and it's gonna have loads more parties in it. There's tons of other offices and stuff down the hallway since this is the management building- you know, head of communications, head of safety, mom's- oh, _oh_ my office is the best one and the biggest, you'll have to check it out later! But yeah, uh, the ballroom's all fancy, real marble floors, high ceilings because they're impressive, and _columns_ because everyone likes columns, right!"

"No," The Lorax put in, but went ignored as the Once-ler continued to usher him along.

"That's what my mom said, and she's got a real eye for interior design!" The young man gushed, hardly pausing for a breath as they weaved through throngs of people, long arms gesturing as they went. "But now that the business is doing so well, we were able to hire a decorator for this party. See all these decorations and stuff are state of the art- pretty expensive stuff, but we _absolutely_ needed the best to celebrate the first Warehouse going up though and it looks great, so who's complaining?"

The Lorax frowned as he was pushed along, "Ain't it a bit… green?"

"I thought it was a good theme! You know, speaks of growth, prosperity, all that good stuff!" The Once-ler chirped as they finally skidded to a stop before one of the tables. "Anyway, here, you can meet some of my employees! Meet Jeff, Bob, Audrey, Bob two, Elizabeth and other Jeff! Say hello, guys!"

There was a chorus of murmured hellos and greetings from the group of men and women around the table, all of whom appeared young, cheerful, and not entirely bright. Some were clearly drunk, some bright and animated, and Jeff (or other Jeff, the Lorax was already getting them confused) seemed more focused on his food than anything else. It was impossible to miss the way they all straightened up and adjusted ties and dress straps when the Once-ler appeared however, their faces all smiles and their eyes seeking his. Elizabeth shot a somewhat baffled look at the Lorax, but if she or the others had any thoughts regarding the furry creature, they kept it to themselves.

He had them eating out of the palm of his hand and everybody knew it.

"Hey! You forgot me, Mister Once-ler!" A girl piped up from the end of the table, her eyes bright and lively behind thick round glasses and her curly brown hair somewhat wild. This energy was in sharp contrast to her small, curvy frame, which seemed dwarfed in the huge room.

The Once-ler flashed a grin that held just a touch of mischief as he bent nearly double to meet her eyes. "What! Why no I didn't, Miss Norma Wiggins! I just like to save the best for last," he drawled before playfully tapping her on the nose. "I remember every single employee, isn't that right?"

She giggled and reached up to bat his hand away, though it was Bob (or maybe it was Jeff) who spoke up. "It's true! Keeps track of every single one, I dunno how he does it!"

At these words the young man rolled his eyes. "Oh stop that, you're not getting a raise from me that easily," he said, though his smile made it clear he was teasing. With those words he patted the Lorax on the shoulder and began to push him away. "Anyway, I just wanted to introduce my friend-"

"Acquaintance," the Lorax cut in.

"_Very good_ acquaintance to you all and let him see just how very happy and successful your jobs are making you," The Once-ler chirped without missing a beat. "Anyway, there's loads more party to see, so I hope you all have a great time!"

"Wait, Mister Once-ler!" Norma cried out, very nearly leaping out of her chair. She grinned as she leaned forward, propping herself up on the table. "Do you think you could do another magic trick?"

"Not now, Norma, but later, I promise!" The Once-ler called back, giving her a wink before pushing the Lorax through the crowd. "Started doing magic tricks for the press, everyone eats it up. Can you believe it?" He snickered as they finally came to a stop next to the snack table, which was decorated with a large ice sculpture of himself holding a thneed. There was also a large board with a somewhat cheesy outline of a thermometer, filled entirely with scribbled in red and accented with dozens of glittering star stickers. The Lorax surveyed it absently, then yelped in surprise as he found a deviled egg shoved into his mouth.

"See, our caterers are the best in Greenville, mom made sure of it. She said we deserved it for meeting our mark so quickly!" The young man continued rambling as he loaded his plate with crackers and cheese, fancy little meat pies and tiny skewers of vegetables- one of which he absently snatched from the gaze of another fellow at the table. He ignored the man's call of protest, however, focusing on snatching up another glass of champagne.

The Lorax made a face at this, setting his own untouched glass aside (onto a chair, as he couldn't reach the table) and folding his arms so as to properly glare up at the inventor. "So, I see you're still snatching everything in sight like ya own the place."

"Well, to be fair, I _do_ own the place," The Once-ler chirped through a mouthful of cheese and cracker. "Look, I'm a busy man and it's not often that this happens. It's hardly my problem if someone else didn't grab the food first- besides,_ I_ paid for it."

The forest guardian watched him in silence for another moment, then gave a sigh. "Guess you've still got that selfish streak. Congratulations, you haven't changed after all."

The food went down in a violent swallow as the Once-ler's eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

He received a shrug in response. "I'm just saying… is this all really necessary? I mean, come on, you've got an_ ice sculpture_ of yourself. Some may call that compensating for something."

"Hey, hey, you leave Oncie out of this!" The young man sputtered, moving in front of said sculpture as if warding off a physical attack, his top hat shifting on his head as he glared down at the Lorax. "Look, my mom said it was a good idea and she's right, I've been working really hard and I deserve it!"

"Oh yeah, sure, you've been working hard, no denying that," The Lorax drawled, absently poking out his small tongue. The taste of the mayonnaise from the deviled egg was clinging stubbornly, which was only serving to make him more irritable. "Look, I ain't saying don't celebrate. You worked hard, I'm not knocking that. But while you've got all this food, there's some starving bar-ba-loots outside- ya catch my drift?" Green eyes narrowed as he sought out the Once-ler's blue ones in the dim lighting.

The Once-ler blinked in shock at this, his grip abruptly loosening a bit on his plate of food. His eyes flicked from the pile of cheese and crackers to the window outside, shoulders drooping with a sudden weight. However, after a moment he straightened up, mouth pressing into a frown. "Hey, don't try guilt-tripping me. I have it on good authority that there are still plenty of truffulas, meaning there's more than enough fruit out there. The bar-ba-loots are fine, my company is doing fine, and it's all going to be _fine_!" The last part was spoken in a hard sort of tone, like a physical line that matched the taut nature of the young man's long limbs and round face.

When he only received a raised, bushy eyebrow in response, the Once-ler's scowl deepened. "Don't give me that look! You're just jealous because I've finally succeeded at something, so I don't need to try to follow your stupid tally sheet anymore- heck, that's probably why you came. Oooh man, red flag Beanpole, fear my tiny orange environmentalist rage!"

That drew a harsh, barking laugh from the Lorax, his mustache bristling. "Seriously? That's the worst excuse I've heard ya come up with yet!" He exclaimed. "Please kid. It was never 'bout control, you know that. So sorry t' be the one to actually hold ya accountable- if I make you uncomfortable, I'm pretty sure that says more about your actions than it does for mine."

The Once-ler drew back at this, eyebrows raising. "Hey, hey, don't you pin this on me! I will have you know I am a perfectly good, upstanding citizen and my conscience is clear! I've given jobs to hundreds of people, do you realize that?" He gestured through the room at this, back to the table with his laughing employees and a gleeful Norma. "Those people have families to feed and I gave them that! _I did_! We're making a successful economy- a-and the thneed helps! It helps so much! I get phone calls every day telling me how some lady used it in her housework or, or, the other day someone used it to save a kid from drowning! That's a big deal!"

"And it's all thanks to the promise you broke. Gee. How upstanding of you," the Lorax drawled.

Now the Once-ler physically flinched. "I… look, that's not fair! There's still millions of trees, it's not like we've gone and destroyed the whole forest. I've seen those bar-ba-loots and hummingfish, they're perfectly happy! We've got a staff member who's whole job is to make sure to take care of this stuff, we're fine!" It was with these words that the Once-ler drew himself up to his full height, shoulders squared, and began to advance toward the Lorax.

"You know what? I think you protest a bit too much- I think this _is_ about control. You're just mad because I'm not bending over backwards to please you anymore! Oh yeah Beanpole, you're talented, go ahead and make us pancakes, take care of all the animals, make everything, blahblahblah- and, and _then_, oh, then when I'm successful you go and change your tune! I tried to share- all I wanted to do was make you happy, you know! I kind of _liked_ you Mustache, but now I can see that was pretty stupid of me! How would a little orange jelly bean like you have any idea how people work?" As he spoke, he continued to stomp forward, ranting and raving all the while. The Lorax took several steps back, eyes widening.

Aside from the first day he'd arrived, the Once-ler had always made a point of speaking to him and the other animals as if they were equals. His shoulders would droop and he often found himself either on one knee or picking a critter up so as to put them on his level- and the Lorax, well, there was no denying respect to someone who had saved your life from a waterfall. That had been the case with the old Once-ler anyway, the one who put on shows and smiled and bent over backwards to please everyone around him- and oh, that had been seen earlier, and it was something the Lorax could almost admit he missed.

This was something new. This was something ugly. This was that darkness behind every stolen bite of fruit and that ambitious smile, and it was as disgusting and gaudy as everything else in the room. The monster guarding its hoard, nothing more.

The Lorax finally managed to come to a stop and found himself with a scowl of his own, puffing out his chest as his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "You know, after a millennia, you'd be surprised at how much I know," he said, voice surprisingly calm. "I did want you to be successful, I ain't denying that. But there's a difference between being successful and being a selfish jerk, and I'm pretty damn sure you crossed tha' line somewhere after the ice sculpture."

"Shut up. About. _The ice sculpture_!" The Once-ler snapped, teeth bared in a snarl. "You know what? You didn't even want to be involved- you're the one lying to me now! I called you a friend, you're the one who turned around and insisted I was an acquaintance!" His shoulders slumped a bit at this and he drew back, something in those eyes flickering back to normal as the music went quiet. Something sad and alone, that thing that had been so excited for any sort of success and had been so desperately hopeful to have both that and someone to share it with.

But the Lorax knew just how bad the young man was at realizing he couldn't have everything.

With that thought, those green eyes became somewhat sad, the creature's shoulders drooping as well. "I'm not friends with someone who picks their own success over a promise and over my trees. Guardian of the forest, Everest. It kinda comes with the territory."

The Once-ler opened his mouth to speak. He then paused, however, biting his lip. After a moment he shook his head, then reaching up to adjust his tie. "You know what? Whatever. You wanna be an Acquaintance, fine. That means you don't know me, and that means you are _not_ invited to this party! So get out before I make y-"

He was cut off by an awful shriek from the microphone. The two glanced up to the stage to see the Once-ler's mother standing there in a fabulous peacock blue dress, a lovely white fur draped around her shoulders. Her face was a brilliant grin that matched the diamonds hanging from her ears and she gave a tittering sort of laugh that the whole room mirrored politely._"Well everyone, as you all know, this wouldn't have been possible without my son~! I mean, granted, he wouldn't be here if I hadn't borne him, raised him, and given him all of his ideas and my loving motherly affection, but regardless- thanks to him and his thneed, our company is booming and the money's just rollin' in~! Isn't that right! everybody?_" There was a rolling applause from this, which drew a grin from both mother and son.

"W-wow…" The Once-ler gasped, his eyes wide, then nudged the Lorax with his foot. "Can you believe that! She said that about me, Mustache, _me_!" His voice was thick with excitement, his irritation from their feud apparently completely forgotten.

"I heard her," the Lorax said flatly as she continued to ramble about the success of the company and what toil had been involved in all of her son's- and more importantly, _her_ -many plans. He listened for another moment, then gave a sigh. He couldn't compete with that. "Oi, Beanpole-"

_"Anyway, on that note, Oncie, come on! It's time for a speech!"_

Cue the applause and the Once-ler's flabbergasted, but gleeful expression. "That's me! I'm on!" He exclaimed as he threw back the last of his champagne, splattering some of it onto his crisp white shirt. He then shoved the plate full of food into the Lorax's hands.

"Oi!" The Lorax exclaimed as the young man turned away, trying desperately to be heard over the wave of applause. "What about your promise! I came here t' talk to ya about the trees, idiot!"

"What!" His former charge called back, brow furrowing. He then shrugged and waved a hand in a dismissive manner. "Yeah, yeah, look, you can keep a section all to yourself, okay? I promise we'll leave the trees alone in the North section, all right? Look, whatever, I have to go, _I'm on_!" With those words he swept through the room, grinning from ear to ear and waving.

The Lorax watched him as he weaved through the crowd, towering above all of them even without the aid of his top hat. He watched as the young man was assaulted by pats on the back and cries of praise, watched fake grins flicker into place and caught snippets of shared jokes that had probably not been funny in the first place. He watched the world cling to the Once-ler's coat-tails and watched the way the young man ate it all up, drank it in like a man dying of thirst. The sea of fake smiles swallowed him whole, and all the forest guardian could do was watch.

The orange creature gave a sigh as he set the plate of food aside, then turned and made his way toward the window again. There were so many things he could think to say- so many warnings, insistences, cold reminders But even the voice of the trees wasn't going to be heard in all the chaos, so he'd have to let it be for now. Maybe he'd try again tomorrow.

"Idiot," the Lorax muttered as he glanced across the room to the young man on the podium.

A pedestal was still the loneliest place in the room. The Once-ler just hadn't realized it yet


	9. How to Play The Game

**The Three Strike-Point-Flag System**

**A Lorax Fanfic Series by Digitaldreamer  
><strong>

**IX: How to Play The Game (Or Die Trying)  
><strong>

* * *

><p><em>Annnd another one, whoo. It's really nice to not have school and thus have more time to pump these out, I admit it. Or, you know, maybe I just like writing vaguely depressing stuff all too much, who knows?<em>

_So yeah, uh. More CEO Once-ler and Lorax chats and details about the Once-ler's awesome office life of special. Now with more Norma mentions- but there won't be much more than mentions. As much as I love the Norma-ler pairing, I wanted the focus of the story to be bromance and the Once-ler, so that's where this fic is gonna stay. Hopefully you guys don't mind.  
><em>

_Anyway, that's all I've got for this one. Enjoy!  
><em>

* * *

><p>It was going to be a good day, the Once-ler could already tell.<p>

The young man hummed his Thneed jingle as he adjusted his tie, eyes flicking to the specially ordered full length mirror in his office. The little truffula trees etched into the gold frame were a nice touch, he'd admit, but really he just thought it was nice to have a mirror where he didn't have to drop to his knees to get a proper look at his own face. Of course, the fact that his reflection looked damn good was nice as well.

"New suit?"

The Once-ler's shoulders shot forward an inch and he grimaced at the familiar accented tone. "You again? I thought my Aunt told you to stay out," he grumbled, eyes flicking to the orange creature reflected in the mirror.

"Yeah, well, she ain't exactly bright, is she?" The Lorax drawled, tiny legs kicking over the windowsill for a moment before he scooted across the polished surface and dropped to the floor like a sack of orange fuzz. He gave a low whistle as he glanced around. "Damn, this _is_ a big office. It's about what, the size of two of your tents put together?"

At these words, the Once-ler couldn't help but smirk a bit in pride. "Just about," he said as he turned back to adjusting his tie. "Gotta have someplace that looks really expensive for when the shareholders come by, you know? Besides, this finally means I don't have to duck when I go through doors."

"Fair enough," the Lorax drawled as he paced the polished floor, the sound of his paws echoing all the way to the impossibly high ceilings. "I see ya got a new guitar," He observed as he paused next to the stand, reached out to brush furred claws over polished red resin.

"Latest model~!" The Once-ler chirped brightly before his brow furrowed, tongue poking out as he messed with his tie again.

His former friend made a noncommittal sort of hum as he plucked at a string with a furred claw. The resulting sound was something crisper, cleaner, and somehow far more mechanical and processed than the aged strings of its brother. The creature waited for the sound to fade, then gave a huff. "I liked the old one better," he said simply. "Had some actual character to it."

This drew a snort from the Once-ler. "As if you know anything about musical instruments. Anyway, your judgmental hippie comments aren't gonna do anything to bring me down today, so I suggest you stop trying~!" he declared, turning so as to properly stick out his tongue at the forest guardian.

"That so?" The Lorax said as he casually stepped around the long, spindly legs of a new drawing board, green eyes flicking absently over the plans for some new logging machine, "What, d'ya have some big puppy kicking shenanigans t' fit in between your pointless deforestation or is it another talent show t' drown out your sense of crippling guilt? Or is it just that lunch date with other villains from Captain Planet that you've had set since last week?"

"That was so funny I forgot to laugh," The Once-ler piped in response before giving a growl and pulling his tie loose. He'd had quite a bit of practice over the past many months, but he had to admit on occasion ties still eluded him. He chalked it up to nerves, given the scheduled events. "And no, you're wrong, try again."

The Lorax just gave him another hum as he continued to pace around the office, pausing before the glass display cabinet. A number of awards filled the case- Best New Business, Entrepreneur of the Year, Greatest Boss, Most Promising Newcomer, all lovingly cared for and shining next to newspaper clippings and certificates. It was an absurd amount of recognition for a business that had only been running for a short time, but what was even stranger was just how much space was still left in the cabinet.

There was always room for more.

When he didn't get a proper guess, the Once-ler finally spoke up on his own. "I'll have you know, the reason I'm so chipper is because _I_ have a date!" He declared proudly as he finally adjusted the tie properly this time, then gave a nod of satisfaction.

Yellow eyebrows did perk up in surprise a bit at this. "That so?" The Lorax asked as he paced around the two plush, leather visitors chairs, which were sunk impossibly low compared to the absurdly tall desk. "Is it that Norma girl?"

"Yup!" The Once-ler grinned as he buttoned up his pinstriped, green suit jacket. "I'm surprised you remember!"

The Lorax gave a snort at this as he hopped into the high-backed office chair, the red leather squeaking loudly under his orange paws as they scrambled a bit before he settled onto it. "Kinda hard t' forget the one time you had eyes for someone besides you, Twiggy," he said as he paced around the seat of the chair for a moment, tracing a claw against the polished golden arms.

At these words the inventor snorted, adjusting the sleeves of the coat. "All right, I'll give you that one. She really is amazing though! She's super hard working- I mean, yeah, okay, she can be a bit clumsy sometimes, but it's cute! And she always wears these pretty dresses that flow when she walks when she's out of work, and she has those cute glasses, and she always laughs at all my jokes and sure she says some weird things sometimes but it's kinda like she thinks out of the box so-"

"Does she like you for you?"

"Wha?" The Once-ler turned away from the mirror so as to properly meet the Lorax's gaze, expression one of obvious confusion.

The Lorax rolled his eyes as he hopped onto the young man's desk, dislodging a few papers from the orderly, absurdly tall pile of work. "This Norma girl… it's obvious ya like her. And she certainly thought you were the bees knees or whatever the phrase is these days, I could tell. But does she actually like you for _you_, or does she like the whole… arrogant corporate giant thing you've got goin' on here?" Here he gestured to all green pinstriped, six-ish something feet of him.

At these words the Once-ler blinked in confusion, then gave a slight laugh. "Nooot sure what you're getting at, Meatloaf, unless by arrogant you mean I'm, y'know, actually _successful_. Y'know, talented businessman, entrepreneur, face of the company and all that." As he spoke, he reached for his gloves, which he pulled on in a flourish of green material.

"Oh yeah, and if you keep talkin' yourself up I'm sure she'll enjoy all eight feet of your stupid ego," The Lorax said dryly before rolling his eyes. "Seriously Beanpole, what are you doin'? This whole get-up looks ridiculous on you."

"Hey man, don't go insulting the suit! My stylist tells me pinstripes are totally in right now- besides, I look _fantastic_ in it!" The young man declared as he scooped his top hat up from its resting place on a lovely little green pillow, then placed it on his head with the same care ordinarily afforded to a crown.

"Just 'cause a costume looks good on you doesn't mean it works," the Lorax pointed out. "Come on, ya had the whole innocent farmboy get-up going for ages and it worked fine. That suit don't fit ya, and it looks uncomfortable besides."

"Innocent farmboy doesn't sell thneeds," The Once-ler said with a roll of his eyes. He turned back to the mirror and began to fiddle with his tie again, brow furrowing. "Besides, like my mom said, _innocent farmboy_ can't run a company. Innocent farmboy looks like he doesn't have a dollar to his name… innocent farmboy doesn't inspire confidence. Innocent farmboy is nobody, and I'm not going back to being nobody. Never again." Again those words were coming out like bile hidden in his chest, leaking out in harsh words and a dark gaze directed at himself.

This was interrupted by an abrupt, violent cough, something which shook his thin frame and sent him doubling over. After an instant the spasm passed and the Once-ler grimaced as he thumped his chest, then shook his head and reached for a glittering silver box. He snapped it open, brow still furrowed, then shrugged and shoved it into his pocket. "Norma may have a point," he mumbled.

"Were those cigars?" The Lorax asked, his own brow furrowing. "Didn't know you smoked."

"Not really," His former charge replied as he gave another cough and winced. "It's just everyone else on the Board does and mom wanted me to fit in. I think I'm gonna stop though- Norma says they're bad for me and she doesn't like the smell."

"Well, she's right on the nose there," The orange creature murmured as he put his claws on his hips. "That bein' said though, shouldn't you be quitting for you? Ya can't just do everythin' to please others, we've been over this."

The Once-ler turned away as he pulled a pair of glittering sunglasses from his pocket and unfolded them. "I'm not sure what you're talking about."

His former friend gave a sigh. "Dun' give me that, you know what I mean. Your mom likes this, Norma likes that, the public likes this, the board does that. What do _you_ like?"

At these words, the Once-ler blinked, then gave a snort as he plucked a fancy green bottle of cologne from the table and gave it a squeeze- _Larger Than Life, _easily over a hundred per bottle but totally worth it. "Well, _this_, obviously!" He exclaimed, then gave another cough thanks to inhaling at the wrong moment. His eyes watered and he gave a wheeze and another cough, then shook his head and adjusted his coat lapels. "I mean, come on. I look better than I've ever looked, I've got more money than I ever dreamed, the public _adores_ me and I've got a date tonight. How can it get much better than that?" He chuckled as he glanced over his shoulder, then wagged his eyebrows over the sunglasses. "What, is little Mustache actually showing some concern for the big bad Once-ler?"

The Lorax let out a strangled, choked sort of noise and bristled, every strand of orange fur puffing out as his claws clenched into fists. "'Scuze me?" He sputtered, and with it came the smell of ozone and a stirring of storm that did not match his tiny frame. "That's not what I meant, you arrogant, money-grubbing corporate dirtbag! It's not about you, I just- I - ya cut down the section you promised to leave alone! If that ain't a strike, I don't know what is!"

"Yeah yeah, save the trees, I'm a horrible person and you're mad that I don't care about your strikes anymore, that's more like it!" The Once-ler rolled his eyes as his shoulders dropped a fraction. His eyes only had to flick to the mirror before his bravado was back, however, along with a fresh clover to tuck into the suit. "Look, whatever, I already told you nothing's bringing me down today- hot date, remember? Now if you're done jabbering at me, I need to go: I have a press conference before dinner and I'm already fashionably late," he drawled as he walked toward the door, head held high.

His former friend bristled for another moment before his claws dropped, the movement accompanied by a softer sort of breeze from the window. "…Fair enough. No use reachin' ya when a girl's involved, is there?" He rolled his eyes, and there may have been a hint of a sardonic smile that didn't quite reach that sad something in his eyes."Lemme give you some advice: Jus' be yourself. Girls prefer that, trust me."

The Once-ler blinked in surprise at this, then snorted as he turned to face the Lorax again. "Please, this_ is_ me. Besides, what would you know about…." He trailed off as he turned to face the now empty desk, face falling. After a moment, however, he gave a shrug. This wasn't the first time the Lorax had appeared or disappeared out of nowhere, and he doubted it'd be the last.

His gaze flicked to the mirror a final time, taking a last sweeping look at his appearance. "Be myself?" He muttered. Then he gave a chuckle, turning for the door again. Because yeah, sure, he was supposed to be himself… and that was the man who had changed the world, the man who had created thousands of jobs and changed the whole economy, the man who was adored by his family and his mother and did he mention a _girl_?

The Lorax had said to be himself- and well, he could certainly do that. After all, he was the man who gave the world whatever it needed.


	10. Listen To Your Referee

**The Three Strike-Point-Flag System**

**A Lorax Fanfic Series by Digitaldreamer  
><strong>

**X: Listen To Your Referee  
><strong>

* * *

><p><em>Phew. Hey guys, sorry for the wait- literally right after I posted the last one, I succeeded in getting a job. Unfortunately that meant I had a whole lot of focusing to do. I'm still pretty busy and feeling a bit overwhelmed by everything, but hopefully you guys will enjoy this anyway. I worry the ending to this one may be a bit abrupt, so I apologize if it is.<em>

_Cue more establishing stuff with the factory, lots of loving descriptions of the Once-ler in suspenders and some arguing. I'm trying to capture the image of the Once-ler becoming a bit more corrupted and the Lorax getting a bit more openly frustrated, while still establishing that there's still some friendship there... maybe. Whee! Enjoy, and please tell me what you guys think- feedback lets me know what I'm doing right, what I'm doing wrong and also lets me know people are enjoying the fic, so let your voice be heard!_

* * *

><p>It was hot, far hotter than nine in the morning had any business being. The heat settled through the the Thneed factory, a wet, oppressive humidity that clung to the air like a slimy, thick coat. It hung in an all-encompassing mist, glittering in the golden sunlight that peeked through the open windows, uninvited.<p>

Droplets of water clung to the Thneed-O-Matics. They encircled long metal arms like pearled necklaces, slid down clawed shears to leave dewy sweat trails in their wake. Steel supports shimmered in the thick air, coiled around the machines like rippling muscles- sleek, metallic, physical examples of the power that normally glowed within beady red neon "on" switches. Conveyer belt tongues stretched out over the factory floor, swallowing pink fluff with greedy precision.

One, however, lolled listlessly, the gaping thneed-producing maw momentarily still. The beast slumbered in the summer heat, great, powerful, and seemingly impossibly lazy amongst its brethren. The others trucked along, pistons flaring, steam puffing into the air like smoke from the jowls of dragons. The workers puttered around the machines, feeding silky pink into open mouths, shouting over thundering metal jaws, the classic rock from the radio and the occasional awful, obnoxious snarl from various alarms. If they were bothered by the heat that had their polyester shirts clinging to sweat-soaked backs, they didn't act like it.

Granted, that may have had something to do with their boss in their midst, whom was trapped below the single still machine and cursing up a storm.

"Come _on_, you stupid thing!" The Once-ler growled, venom in his tone. The workers were all giving the machine in question a wide berth, stepping around and over the absurdly long legs poking out from beneath the slumbering monster. This was probably wise, as a small bang from its belly elicited an awful rumble from the machine. Its master was undeterred, however, a green work glove sticking out to snatch up a screwdriver before returning to work.

The really sad part was how familiar this whole scene was becoming. This was frustrating- Thneed-O-Matic Number Two was a new model, infinitely superior to the ancient metal deathtraps of One and Five -but the Once-ler was starting to notice an absurdly long, CEO-shaped impression on the dusty floor, and that wasn't good. What was supposed to be a quick fix was quickly turning into a very long, very_ hot_ morning with no end in sight.

The Once-ler gave another grumble as he tightened a screw. "'Quick fix' my ass," he muttered. "Next time I see Chett, he's getting a piece of my-"

"Oi, Beanpole!"

The voice surprised him, causing the young man to give a yelp and shoot upward on reflex. His head connected solidly with the underside of his work, sending a great, reverberating '_clang'_ through the belly of the beast. The Once-ler let out a curse as he immediately rolled out from underneath the machine, entire body curling inward as he clutched at his head.

"Owowowow_ow_!" The Once-ler's tone came out in a frustrated whine, fighting back the urge to squirm on the dusty floor.

"Wow. That was pathetic, even for you. You all right?"

A single blue eye cracked open to spot two tiny orange paws, then flicked upward to spot the rare sight of the Lorax looking down at him. The Once-ler scowled as he sat up, still clutching at his head. "What do _you_ want?" As he spoke, he let his hands drop, poking experimentally at his 'wound' and wincing. "Uuuughh, I swear, if I have a concussion…"

That drew a snort from the Lorax. "Seriously?" He snickered as he stepped around the seated young man. A paw came out to use the Once-ler's shoulder as leverage ("Hey!" the young man yelped, but went ignored), the forest guardian stretching up on his tip-toes to glance at the young man's head. Finally, he poked the growing bump, mustache turning upward in a little half smirk when the inventor let out a yelp and smacked his claws away. "You'll be fine, ya big baby. It's just a bump. I'm sure your brilliant inventing brain will be around t' invent fantastically metrosexual crap for years t' come."

"Gee, thanks so much. I definitely wanted your expert, definitely-_not_-a-doctor's opinion," The Once-ler said flatly as he shooed the critter away from his space. He then tugged off the green work gloves he'd pulled on so as to properly wipe at his sweat-soaked forehead. The gesture was practically meaningless, given the way his bangs were plastered to said forehead, so all it really succeeded in doing was adding another dark grease spot to his face.

"Well, don't you just look like a regular blue collar worker today," the Lorax commented as he leaned against the support where the Once-ler's long, pinstripe green suit coat was draped. "Ain't this supposed t' be the sort of thing you leave behind when you become a CEO?"

"Har har," His former charge said with a roll of his eyes. "You'd think. But Brett and Chett seem to be experts at messing up my machines- and well, given how _I_ made them, I don't see the point in paying someone else to fix them."

The Lorax quirked a brow at this. "M' not sure if that's admirable of you or incredibly cheap."

"I'd go with admirable if you don't want my Aunt to throw you out the window again," The Once-ler said with a dark sort of grin. Upon receiving a green glare, he let out a laugh. "I'm joking, I'm joking! Relax," he snickered, then let out a sigh as he reached up to tug at his shirt collar, desperately trying to loosen it from his sweat-soaked back. Even without his coat and with his sleeves rolled up, it was proving to be far too warm. He didn't dare remove his green waistcoat and suspenders, however- his shirt was dusty enough as is and they provided _some _proof of his title, so he'd just have to suffer. Besides, he had at least twenty of the same suit.

His former friend watched this movement patiently. "Real scorcher today, ain't it?"

The Once-ler gave a nod as he tugged at the tie around his neck, which felt a bit too much like a noose in the heat. "No kidding. Weatherman says it's gonna be like this all week, it's ridiculous. I have no idea _how_ you're managing in all that fur."

At these words, the Lorax snorted and puffed out his furry chest. "I've got my ways, don't you worry. _I'll_ be fine, it's the animals I'm worried about. Bar-ba-loots don't do hot weather terribly well, and this is the hottest things have been in a long time."

"Uh huh. Yeah, well, I've got air conditioning in my office, so I'm set. I should really see about doing something for down here though, it's ridiculous..." The young man didn't seem to really be listening, his focus on the tool box as he pulled his gloves back on and began to shift through it. He nudged aside a hammer and a somewhat wobbly screwdriver before pulling out a multi-headed wrench, the different sizes branching off of it like some kind of metallic snowflake.

An orange paw shot out to shove the wrench down, green eyes meeting his. "You do realize this climate change is 'cause of you, right?"

The Once-ler blinked in surprise for a moment, then gave a snort. "What, were you talking with those protesters from the other day? Don't be stupid, they're making it up." With those words he ducked below the machine, very nearly disappearing beneath a ceiling of screws and wires.

"That's where you're wrong, Gigantor," The Lorax's voice echoed from the edge of the metallic beast, his little paws poking from beneath the lip of it. "Ya wanna know why it's so damn hot?"

These words elicited a snort from the Once-ler as he tugged at a loose screw. "Because of all the hot air you spew on a regular basis?"

He went ignored. "It's all your hackin' and smoggin'! I mean, the air quality's bad enough-"

"No it's not."

He could see the eyeroll of a response in his mind's eye. "Don't give me that. You know as well as I do that the swomme-swans ain't singing anymore, and that sure as hell ain't because they've run out of duets t' do with the hummingfish. Besides, your employees are coughin' too."

The Once-ler let out a laugh at this. "Please. That's the _flu_, genius. It's been going around, it happens."

"The flu don't cause people t' cough up black slime, idiot," The orange creature pointed out. "Anyway, stop ignorin' my original point. Your smog is what's messing with the weather."

His words were interrupted by an awful, rumbling '_clang'_ before a long, spindly piece actually dropped out from the bottom of the machine, sending dust everywhere. The Once-ler let out something between a curse and a cough. "God-_damniti_!" He snapped, eyes squeezing shut against the cloud before he began to cough.

"That stuff acts like a blanket," The Lorax continued, undeterred. "It's keeping the heat where it shouldn't be, that's why everythin's so much hotter than usual."

"That idea just gets stupider the more I hear it," The Once-ler grumbled as he pulled himself out from under the machine and began scrubbing at his face with the dusty gloves. "It doesn't make any sense- the _sun's_ out today, so obviously my smog can't be covering it up that much. Even if it was, cloudy days tend to be cooler for a reason, as my scientists have so lovingly pointed out to me. Who am I supposed to believe, a whole team of scientists or a little orange fuzz ball who couldn't even tell me how half of this stuff works? For a guardian of nature, clearly you don't know _crap_ about-"

He was cut off by an orange fist grabbing the front of his collar and pulling him down with a surprising amount of force. Green eyes locked with blue and rather abruptly the Once-ler felt more like he was staring down a lion than an orange fuzzball. "Don't," The Lorax hissed, and his words were a growl backed up with the subtle rumble of thunder in his throat. "Ever tell me my perception of nature is off. I have been here for over a millennia, and that's a whole lot longer than your scientists. If I say somethin's wrong, _kid_, there's something wrong."

The Once-ler met his gaze for a moment. Then his own blue eyes narrowed and he reached up to enclose a twig-like, furred wrist in his own gloved hand. "Is that so?" He chirped, bright tone laced with an air of sickening bile from his gut. "Then don't call me _kid_, you primitive sack of ancient history."

He was no longer facing down a lion, he was facing down something impossibly tiny and pathetic, and all he could do was wonder just why he'd ever been concerned about this thing's view of him. After all, he _was_ industry. He was the towering giant and the thing before him was nothing more than a squall- a burst of wind, rain and hot air. Nothing important.

Still, that squall was staring him down, and the two simply sat there for a moment, glaring at each other with the closest thing to open malice either had ever expressed. The machines whirred around them, giants stampeding forward, undeterred by the feud below. The classic rock pouring from the radio was interrupted by an incredibly familiar jingle, the words tumbling out over a factory that suddenly seemed eerily quiet.

_"Everybody needs a thneed, a fine thing that all people need…"_

It was only in this silence that the Once-ler realized that most of his workers had ceased what they were doing to watch the squabble on the floor. He blinked, eyes shifting over to meet dozens of other pairs of eyes. Said eyes immediately diverted as the workers all rushed to look busy, though the checking and rechecking of the same tufts over and over again made it incredibly clear just where their attention still lay.

And with that attention came a very worrying thought. A CEO working down in the factory had an air of being "one of us", it gave the workers a sense of community. A six-foot something CEO getting into a fist fight with a two foot tall orange fluffball? Well, that looked bad no matter how you spun it.

The Once-ler eased his grip on the Lorax's wrist, trying to at least _appear_ gentle as he pushed the creature away. "I'm _terribly_ sorry about that, buddy," he drawled, the abrupt cheer in his voice sounding almost convincing. "The heat's made me just a _tad_ irritable, you know how it is. But I assure you, my board's looked into it and my smog isn't causing any harm. They've run tests and you can trust me when I say it's one hundred percent safe." He'd gotten quite used to using this tone. If he spun it right, spat out the right numbers and flashed the right smile, he'd found he could convince just about anyone. "The heat wave's just that, a heat wave- there was a similar one ten years ago and ten years before that! These things go in cycles- it probably just doesn't seem that way to you because of all the fur."

Unfortunately, the Lorax had never been convinced by numbers, and that deadpan green glare made it clear nothing had changed.

The Once-ler let out a sigh, fake smile dropping as he reached for the part that had fallen out. "Fine, keep being deluded about the smog all you want, I don't care. I know you're lying, so it doesn't matter. Anyway, I keep letting you walk in here out of the kindness of my heart, so unless you've got something else to say-"

"The fish."

"What?"

The Lorax huffed as he folded his thin arms, tapping a foot against the dusty floor. "The hummingfish. That new factory of yours is in the North sector- which ya said you'd leave alone, for the record -but at any rate, it's dumping this schloppity-schlop junk straight into the river."

"Oh. That," The Once-ler made a face for a second before the smile came back- bright, cheerful, ready to sell. "Look buddy, I'm sorry about that, I really am, but we're biggering and we needed the room."

The Lorax looked unconvinced, "An' the schlop?"

"Weeeeeellllll…." The Once-ler let the word trail off, then gave a nervous laugh. " I _am_ sorry about that, but the nearest waste dump is fifty miles off. It just wasn't in the budget, that's all."

Again came that incredulous eyebrow quirk. "That so? That's funny, considering I've seen that new desk o' yours. Barely fits in your office. You're tellin' me you can afford stuff like that, but actually trying t' be kind to the environment is out of the question?"

His former charge let out a huff as he finally ducked below the machine again. "Look, I've been _busy_ okay?" He insisted, voice reverberating against the metal in an echo. "I really needed that desk for all the paperwork, I'm practically drowning in it! And then there's stuff like these machines constantly breaking, I have a board meeting tonight for the third night in a row, I've got new commercial storyboards I need to approve by Friday and then on top of this Norma wanted to go out to dinner this weekend- gah, I have no idea if I'll be able to fit it in. So yeah, sorry that your stupid fish weren't exactly in the game plan."

There was a moment of silence from the guardian of the forest. "…Sheesh. All this time and you're still doin' everything while missing the one thing you _should_ be doing. Some big bad CEO you've turned out t' be."

"I'm doing whatever need to get done." The Once-ler let out another frustrated growl as he struggled to shove the metal object back into place. "Look, I don't have time for this- like I said, I'm really busy. I see your point about the fish and I'll see about bringing up at the meeting tonight. Does that get me a point or whatever?"

Another moment of silence that felt surprisingly weighted- heavy with unsaid accusations, complaints and whatever else. Finally, he heard a familiar sigh. "I'll believe it when I see it, kiddo."

That very nearly caused the Once-ler to hit his head again. He let out a growl as his head popped out from under the machine again. "Hey, what did I say about-"

He was talking to empty space. Again.

The Once-ler blinked in surprise as he glanced around, tugging absently at that damn tie. Upon sucking in a breath, the air seemed to catch in his throat, tearing an awful, violent cough from his thin frame. He grimaced as he reached up to cover his mouth, his other fist rapping at his chest After a moment these coughs subsided, leaving him sitting there in the dust and humidity, grimacing as he finally allowed his gloved hand to drop.

It came away thick with a dark, oily goop.

"Sir?" One of the employee's voices echoed over the din of the factory, concern evident in her tone. "Are you all right?

"Y-yeah…" The Once-ler shook his head and swiped his hand across his thigh- these pants were ruined anyway, and the goop was close enough to the grease stains that it didn't really matter. "I'm fine, don't worry about it. Just close the window or something, all right?"

At the worker's pained expression, his eyes narrowed slightly. "I said _close it_, I think I'm catching something," he growled, his tone becoming the one of a person all too used to getting their own way. "Don't worry about the heat, I'll install air conditioning today and plenty of fans," he added as he swallowed, ignoring the slight gumming in his throat as he turned to focus on his tools.

So he was catching the flu. Big deal. That didn't mean Mustache was right- he was just a bit overworked, it was only natural that his body would start to break down. He'd just take some vitamins and that would be that, he didn't have time for much else. It was fine, he'd make it work. He always did.

Everything was going to be just fine


	11. Time Out for Pancakes

**The Three Strike-Point-Flag System**

**A Lorax Fanfic Series by Digitaldreamer  
><strong>

**XI: Time Out For Pancakes (Again)  
><strong>

* * *

><p><em>Annnnd time for another one, another case of me enjoying writing the Once-ler's life during his descent. I really enjoy describing the area and actions and seeing if I can get an idea of the emotions and such from that. It's good times.<br>_

_This one actually wasn't originally in the plans, but the image hit me pretty hard a few weeks back and wouldn't leave me alone. So enjoy a bit of bittersweet bromance before things get well and truly awful. Yaaay. Hope you guys enjoy! Also I apologize for any POV shifts or whatever- like I said, work has been killer. I hope you enjoy anyway, please just tell me what you think!_

* * *

><p>The sound of the knife hitting the cutting board followed a violent, somewhat off-kilter rhythm. It echoed through the kitchen, a hollow noise that felt somehow alien amongst the modern day artistry of the place. The design of the place fit impossibly well- organic curves and swirls taking the form of cabinets and cupboards, all stretching for the ceiling as if reaching for the dimmed skylight above. State-of-the-art utensils and appliances wrapped their way around the room- an oven that could fit multiple roast beasts, a stovetop with eight more burners than was really necessary, dish washer, dish dryer, dish sorter, dish whosa-whatsa, a fridge that towered from floor to ceiling that dispensed hot drinks, cold drinks and downright fantastic fruit punch with the right ingredients. Stainless steel pots and pans glistened from artistically crafted racks alongside blown glass artisan bowls and dishes, everything placed exactly so and cast in a variety of shadows and golden glow from the singular light of the stove.<p>

The whole place had an air of the state of the art, of the modern, of someone impressive and important who would only take the best. It also had an air of almost never being used.

There was a soft sigh from the room's sole occupant as he paused in his job, reaching up to rub at his face. After running his fingers through already mussed bangs, he glanced down at his handiwork. The truffula fruit lay there, half slain, reddish juice running across the wood cutting board and his knife like some kind of grisly murder. For all the juice, however, the actual fruit still appeared wrinkled, dead, and after staring at it for another moment the Once-ler gave another sigh and quickly swept the remains into the trash.

Whatever. Truffula fruit was out of season anyway, he'd just have to ask his assistant (Belinda? Zelda? Goddamnit he'd gone and forgotten her name again) to pick up better groceries tomorrow. Not that it was likely he'd even get to use them.

"Ain't it a bit late for pancakes?"

The Once-ler jumped at the familiar voice, though he gained control of his surprise by the time he'd glanced over at the orange creature sitting at his breakfast nook table. He let out a small chuckle as he leaned against the counter, "Do you ever _not_ appear out of nowhere or is that just the only way for a furry peanut to make an entrance?" As he spoke, his fingers blindly grasped behind him. The jittery motions sent the apparent target- his sunglasses, clattering to the floor, and he couldn't help but wince.

"I'll stop doin' it when you stop comin' in with stupid guitar riffs," The Lorax drawled. He raised a furry eyebrow as he watched the man drop to the floor for the glasses. "Don't go tellin' me you wear your sunglasses at night now."

His former charge seemed to consider for a moment. He then flashed a grin that was all charm with just a teaspoon of guilt as he rose and returned the glasses to their original spot. "What? No, no, that would be ridiculous," he chuckled as he rubbed at his face again. Even in the dim light from the stove, the bags beneath his eyes were clearly visible- dark shadows that seemed to drag his entire being down like a weight.

The Once-ler clearly knew this, as he stood there fidgeting awkwardly for a few seconds, then gave a cough that may not have been nerves judging from the length of it. Finally he turned back to his work, scooping up a mixing bowl that he'd already set out. "Uh, yeah. Pancakes. It's never too late for pancakes. Do you want some?"

He could practically feel those green eyes judging him, could already imagine the negative response that had been queing up with that "acquaintance" label for ages. After a moment, however, the Lorax let out a sigh. "I don't see why not."

This brought a grin to the young man's face, his whole face seeming to light up. "Great! Grab a whisk for me, will you?" he chirped as he nudged one of the cupboard drawers open, then turned back to plucking several eggs out of a carton. "I was already gonna be making way too many for just me anyway- I always have the ingredients, but I never seem to have the time before they go bad."

The Lorax frowned as he padded across the floor, using the offered drawer and the one above it as a stepping stool. "What's t' point in buyin' em, then?" He asked as he paused at the top drawer to fish through it, nose crinkling in confusion at several of the cooking implements. "I mean, you're the richest man in t' world anyway, ain't ya? Why not jus' pay someone else t' cook and save yourself the hassle?"

The Once-ler shrugged as he expertly cracked three of the eggs at once, dribbling the yolks into the bowl without dropping a single shell. "Well, technically I _do_ have people to cook for me. We have a lot of dinner meetings and stuff like that- but to be honest, I'm not a huge fan of gourmet. It's just too small of an amount for what you pay and usually so weird it's not worth it."

"Mmm. Fair enough- this it?" The Lorax's words were punctuated by the offering of a stainless steel monstrosity with multiple, bulbous wire heads.

"Yep!" The Once-ler stretched over to take the item in question, his loosened tie fluttering from where it was draped around his neck. He then began to stir the eggs, the sound of the whisk swishing against the sides of the bowl taking on a rhythmic, almost soothing quality. "But yeah, I'm not a huge fan of gourmet and take-out gets old. I'd really just rather cook for myself, but I don't have time to do it very often. It makes for great stress relief though."

The Lorax gave a thoughtful sort of hum at this as he unscrewed the cap of a milk carton. "Stress?" In spite of the thing being nearly as big as him, he still managed to heft the carton into the air with a grunt, then tipped it forward to send some of the liquid sloshing into the bowl.

"Thanks," The Once-ler said as he continued to stir, reaching absently for the flour he'd already measured and pouring it into the bowl. "And well, yeah. Being a CEO isn't exactly easy- the board meetings in particular have been a headache lately. No one seems to want to listen to me- which is absurd, given that I'm _paying_ them. Mom says I'm just not good with people and can't spin things right. She just has more experience in this stuff, I guess."

"Mmm." The response was noncommittal, but the Once-ler didn't seem to care as he continued to stir.

"I mean, granted, I don't know _where_ she got this experience, since to my knowledge she's only been a waitress before this," There was a touch of confusion to his tone, the odd hint of bitterness contrasting the dab of vanilla extract he'd added to the pancake mixture. "But obviously she knows what she's doing, and I just-" His sentence was cut off with another series of coughs which left the young man reeling thin body shuddering as he covered his mouth.

After a few moments of this the young man was left leaning heavily against the counter, panting for breath. He then shook his head and stepped over to the sink, shoving his hands under the running tap and scrubbing quickly. "W-well, anyway," the Once-ler said, the cheer in his voice only sounding mildly forced as he pointedly looked away from the oily black flowing down the drain. "It's not like it matters. All that matters in the end is the company, and it's doing great, so I shouldn't complain. 'Mother knows best' and all that." Here he shut off the faucet with a decisive snap, then glanced back to see the Lorax staring at him.

"S-so, _anyway_," The Once-ler chirped as he quickly turned back to stirring. "How are you?"

The question clearly wasn't very well thought out, considering the Lorax's usual answer to such things. The creature's gaze seemed to go frigid as he glared at the young man's tense shoulders. "Oh, you know, t' usual," he said slowly. "Fighting for the lives of all your old friends, gettin' thrown outta windows by your aunt, still waitin' for ya to keep your promise: pretty standard."

The Once-ler flinched as if he'd been hit, thin body actually seeming to rock from the verbal blow. His blue eyes flicked to meet the Lorax's momentarily before he gave a nervous laugh and abruptly became very focused on chopping more truffula fruit. "O-oh, yeah. That would make sense. I'm sorry about that, I really am- I meant to bring up the idea for cleaner waste disposal at the meeting today, but we were just so busy with everything else that we didn't have time."

That was a lie, and it was so much more blatant than usual. The snort from the Lorax made it clear just how blatant it was, but thankfully the creature left the subject alone for now. "What about you, how've ya been?"

These words drew a shrug from the Once-ler as he poured the fruit into the mixing bowl, then reached over to flick the stove on. The burner flickered in the dark, blue flame glowing before the young man slid a large griddle over it. "Oh, you know, busy as always. Sales are higher than ever so we've had to go into overtime for the holiday season, and that's not even thinking of the ads we have to get out," he explained as he gave some final, quick stirs to the pancake mixture. The truffula fruit bobbed inside it, melding with the pale goop and turning a red that would have seemed slightly unappetizing if the two hadn't both known what the final result would be.

Here the inventor paused to dip his fingers under the faucet again, then flicked several drops of water on the griddle. Hearing it sizzle, he flashed a small, satisfied smile before beginning to drop several wet, heavy spoonfuls of the dough onto the hot surface. "The worker quarters are getting expanded again, it's pretty much a town by this point. We're thinking of calling it Thneedville- has a nice ring to it, right?" He chuckled a bit at this. "But yeah, Thneedville's gonna have _everything_ anyone's ever gonna need, hence the name. Every house'll have full heating and air conditioning, they'll have pools, shopping centers- we're even looking into making a snow machine so they can do stuff like snowboard year round! Everybody works really hard, so I'm making sure to give them the best I can give them!"

That satisfied, incredibly proud smile was one of a man who felt he could provide for the world, who felt he could shoulder the whole thing. After a few seconds, however, the weight of this seemed to pull his thin shoulders back to Earth, seemed to remind him of the loosened tie around his neck and the tension associated with it. "Of course, not everyone's happy with the idea," he said with a roll of his eyes, flipping one of the pancakes with his usual flair. "I have protestors breathing down my neck about the name change- they keep comparing me to Big Brother or something.

He let out another sigh as he reached up to pop open one of the cupboards, then slid out three plates with the sound of porcelain against porcelain. "It's ridiculous," he muttered as he passed two of the plates to his former friend, setting aside the third. "They keep complaining about factory conditions, which makes no sense when they don't even work there. Then there's the pricing, the inflation rates, temperature stuff, and that's all crap I don't even control! I just don't-"

"I didn't ask how business was,," The Lorax cut him off as he dug through one of the drawers, then pulled out two forks. He eyed one, licked his paw, then scrubbed at it for a moment before nodding in satisfaction. "I dun care about that: I asked how _you _are. You still haven't answered me."

The Once-ler paused in the middle of scraping several pancakes off of the griddle, his surprised expression making it clear just how long it had been since someone had asked him such a question. "I… I'm fine," he said with a smile that seemed a touch too shaky to be genuine. He quickly turned back to the pancakes, the wrinkled back of his work shirt acting as a faulty wall of sorts.

"Uh huh," The Lorax's tone was one of obvious doubt as he padded across the floor to the small, polished white table in the largely unused breakfast nook. "And I'm sure all that black goop you've been spittin' up ain't anything."

His former charge rolled his eyes. "I told you, I have the _flu_, it's been going around," he insisted, the edge in his tone augmented by his spatula scraping against the griddle.

"You've had t' flu for over a year, Beanpole," The Lorax pointed out as he clambered onto the table, claws only slipping momentarily on the polished surface before he began to set out the plates.

The young man's shoulders tensed at that. "I just haven't been getting much sleep, it's messing with my immune system. That's all," he muttered, then cleared his throat as he flipped the new pancakes. He then reached to grab two glasses from the cupboard, fingers tracing across green-tinted glass before filling one with milk. He grabbed the truffula fruit juice from the fridge after this, filling the second cup without a word. Some things never changed, even if his grip was a bit shakier than it used to be,

"If lack of sleep's buggin' you, then take a break." The creature's tone was matter-of-fact as he adjusted the napkins, then hopped back to the floor and made his way back. "You work way more than anybody ever should."

The Once-ler flashed a sour smile at this as he took the two glasses and bent down to offer them to the Lorax. "I can't. The company needs me- you know how it is. Face of Thneed Inc. and all, can't really catch a break." With those words he turned to flip the pancakes off of the burner, flipping the stove off in a fluid motion before plucking a bottle of syrup from the cupboard.

His former friend arched a brow at this as he made his way back to the table, sliding the two glasses onto the seat of his chair. "Don't that kinda defeat- oof!" He paused to grunt as he leveraged himself onto the chair, then moved the two glasses to the table without spilling a drop. "-the purpose of bein' the boss? Besides, what about Norma? I'm sure she'd like t' see ya."

The Once-ler blinked as he paused in front of the table, plate of steaming pancakes in hand. "Norma?" He repeated. That soft, sad chuckle was back as he slumped into his seat and began dividing up the food. "I haven't seen her much lately. I think she's mad at me."

"Well, _yeah_. Most people are when ya don't spend any time with them," The Lorax pointed out flatly, pushing his plate forward. "Oi, dun go holding out on me."

The laugh he received in response was more earnest, if drained, as the Once-ler sat back down and grabbed the syrup. "Relax, I'll make another batch when we're done with these. I know this is hardly enough for you, mister 'ninths and counting'," he drawled as he proceeded to essentially drown his own creation.

The Lorax snorted at this before the Once-ler passed him the syrup. "That's what I thought. Seriously though, you should call her. Plan a date or somethin'. Ya seem like ya need it."

He received a heavy cough in response, the Once-ler grimacing- the mixture of sweatshop salt and bitter gunk in his throat was an awful contrast to the scent of the sickly sweet pancakes on his plate. "I told you, I'm _fine_." He repeated as the coughs subsided, waving a hand in the air as if to ward anymore questions off. "Look, why do you keep bothering me about it? I mean, you're just here to bug me about the trees again, right? What do you care if I run myself into the ground for- all the better for your precious _trees_, isn't it?The last word was punctuated by a stab from his fork that was just a touch too forceful, the sound echoing through the kitchen.

With the clink of metal against porcelain came a heavy sort of silence, reminiscent of the tension between the Once-ler's shoulders and the bags beneath his eyes. Blue eyes blinked blearily across the table to meet green before the young man winced and immediately looked back to his food. "I… sorry, I shouldn't have said that," he muttered. "Just… just eat your pancakes."

Those green eyes eyed him for another moment. Miraculously, however, the Lorax did as he was told, slicing at his pancakes before taking a bite and giving a hum of approval.

The two sat and ate in a silence that was almost companionable for awhile, the only sounds coming from the clinking of forks against porcelain and the occasional bump as glasses were replaced on the table. For an instant things felt almost normal- the chairs and table lacked the usual splinters, certainly, and the ambient hum of the valley evenings had been replaced by the constant drone of air conditioning. In spite of this, however, there was an air of familiarity, a sense of routine that felt like home in the reflected golden light of the stove top.

But then there was the moonlight that stretched between them across the table, blue and cold and reflecting a progressively more barren landscape outside.

Unfortunately, this silence seemed to be the last thing the Once-ler needed. He was only halfway through his pancakes when his head began bobbing downward like a cork. He managed to snap himself out of it every time, but each bob sent him lower and lower, as if he were being physically weighed down by the bags beneath his eyes.

His former friend gave a snort as he watched this display. "Y'know, at this rate ya might not make it to seconds," he pointed out, jabbing his fork in the young man's direction.

"Ugh," The Once-ler grimaced as he pulled himself from a face full of half-eaten pancakes, rubbing at his eyes. "Shut up, I'm fiiiiiine." The last bit came out in a slurred southern drawl, a surefire sign of his exhaustion.

"Uh huh," the Lorax rolled his eyes at this as he went back to his nearly empty plate, sliding a claw through the syrup before licking it clean. "Seriously kiddo, this is getting ridiculous. Anyone could see you're runnin' yourself into the ground. This whole thing is gettin' bigger than you, you've got t' learn to take a step back. Just take a day off, spend a day with Norma… just do _somethin'_. Take better care of yourself or…"

The creature trailed off as he glanced up to see the Once-ler's head had finally dropped to the table, his half empty plate unceremoniously shoved out of the way. Those thin shoulders had finally dropped all the way in sleep, his cheek pressed against a rolled up white sleeve that had made an impromptu pillow. With the unkempt white shirt and tie, his suspenders half undone and dark hair sticking in random directions, he looked more like a child unfairly settled into the role of a grown man than the richest man in the world.

And with that in mind, there was no way he wasn't actually asleep or nearly there. He was far too self-conscious of his own appearance to have let this happen otherwise.

"You've gotta be kidding me. Who's supposed t' clean all this crap up, huh?" The Lorax's voice came out in a groan. When he received no response, there was a sigh, followed by a squeaking noise as the chair was pushed away from the table. This was followed by the clinking of several plates being stacked, soft padding noises as the critter made his way around the table.

The noises paused for a moment.

"You know kid, after everything-" The Lorax's tone started out hard, only to stop. After another moment his voice came again, softer. "…You don't get t' position you're in at all, do ya? I had a whole lot I meant t' say tonight, but…" He trailed off again, then let out a sigh. There was a soft thump on the floor as he made his way toward the sink, dishes piled high in his paws.

"It's my job t' look after the valley. That includes you, idiot."

The only response he received was a snore


	12. Nowhere to Go But Up

**The Three Strike-Point-Flag-System**

**A Lorax Fanfic Series by Digitaldreamer  
><strong>

**XII: Nowhere to Go But Up  
><strong>

* * *

><p><em>Annnnd now we're on the one I've been wanting to do since I started this. In spite of that, this took me awhile- big arguing scenes are hard to do right. Really, ideally they should be done in a single shot so the conversation flows, but I had to do this in pieces so that messed with it. I can only hope this actually works like I want it to- it's really meant to be the climax, which means it should be very emotional. I can only hope I've built things up to the point where this works and doesn't seem cheesy.<em>

_So uh, yes. Enough of my nerves. I hope you enjoy and please tell me what you think!  
><em>

* * *

><p>It really wasn't shaping up to be a good day.<p>

He'd already known today wasn't going to be the best when his alarm had gone off roughly two hours after he'd finally managed to cease his tossing and turning for some sorely needed sleep. This had lead to a lack of coordination that he'd hardly been prepared for, resulting in more banged elbows and battered shins than he'd like to admit. This was only the tipping point of a number of small disasters, from a shower that seemed all too cold to the empty bottle of conditioner to the burnt toast that felt closer to razors in his dry throat when he'd forced it down.

In spite of all this, the Once-ler had still strode into his office at six in the morning, right on the dot. He'd managed to keep his head high, flashed that winning smile and hid the quick glance at his secretary's nameplate quite well before bidding her a jaunty good morning. The instant those gold-rimmed doors had closed, however, he'd visibly slumped, whole body seeming to droop as he'd essentially collapsed into his over-sized office chair. He simply lay there for a moment, head tipped back, taking several wheezing breaths that shook through his thin frame like wind in a tunnel.

Okay, yeah. "Wasn't shaping up to be a good day" was an understatement. He felt like hell.

But hell or not, the stack of papers on his desk was still towering higher than all seven-something feet of himself and his top hat, and it wasn't getting any smaller. The Once-ler grimaced as he rubbed at his aching eyes, glancing down at the itinerary sheet placed on his desk.

Oh, it was a press conference day. _Fantastic_.

The Once-ler let out a sigh as he picked up his mug (its bold print bragging about him being "_Our Number One Once-ler_" seemed downright obnoxious in his current state, but he'd have to deal) and gulped down a mouthful of tea. The heat of it only made his collar feel tighter and the sweat on his brow multiply, but knowing how the morning had been he'd be grateful for it when the chill returned. Besides, the scald against the agony of his throat felt downright pleasant, like scratching an itch. Unfortunately, the rest of his body seemed to disagree, as he found himself once again racked with a storm of coughs that left him gasping for breath and sprawled over his desk in a groaning heap.

"You look like hell, Beanpole."

The familiar voice echoed through his office again as the coughs subsided, drawing a groan from the young man. The Once-ler raked his fingers through sweat-soaked bangs, not bothering to glance over to the window for the source. "Get out of here, Meatloaf, I'm not in the mood," he grumbled, though his exhaustion robbed the conviction from his tone.

"Since when did I ever care about your mood?" The Lorax replied with a snort as he made his way across the office, then struggled his way to the top of the desk. "Seriously, ya look awful," he grunted as his paws scrabbled for purchase. "What'd you go and do to yourself? Breakup still gettin' ya down?"

The mention of Norma made the inventor wince, though he didn't comment on the subject. "I didn't do anything," the Once-ler grumbled as he took another sip of his tea, then pulled a form from his stack of papers and began to glance over it. He then let out a yelp as the paper was abruptly pushed aside, making room for the orange paw that pressed against his temple. "Hey-"

"Sheesh, kid, you're burning up!" the Lorax exclaimed, paw flying back so fast it almost seemed like _he'd_ been burned. He scrutinized the young man for another moment, eyes narrowing. "The hell are ya doin' at work? You're so sick _Pipsqueak _could knock ya over with a breath. You should be at home sleepin', this is stupid even for you."

The Once-ler rolled his eyes as he pressed the form onto his desk, then grabbed a pen from the little golden statue of himself to his right. "Thanks for your concern, but I'm not going anywhere. I've got way too much to do." The pen shuddered in his hand as he spoke, his normally neat handwriting nearly illegible in glistening green ink.

That got a glare from the forest guardian, whom crossed his thin arms and tapped his foot against the desk as he spoke again. "Seriously? You're the CEO, I'm sure ya can afford t' take a sick day. The company can go on without ya for once."

"Then you don't know very much about my schedule," the Once-ler said matter-of-factly as he grabbed for the next form. He paused in the motion as he began to cough again, shoulders hunching over his work. He then swallowed thickly, ignoring the feel of razors in his throat as he dug into his pocket. He quickly swabbed at his mouth with a handkerchief already stained with a heavy black, then slid it back into his pocket with a movement so practiced it almost could have gone unnoticed. "Besides, there's no way I can take today off. Mom has press conferences scheduled all day, and I know she worked really hard to get all these people together. There's no way I can afford to miss it."

The Lorax frowned at this. "Why'd she go and schedule somethin' like that if she knew ya weren't feeling well?"

A soft, bitter laugh came in response. "Well, as you've pointed out, I've had the flu for awhile," the Once-ler drawled as he initialed another form, then set it aside. "We can't just postpone all public appearances indefinitely, especially with the whole air quality fiasco. The sooner I get out there, the sooner people remember that this whole mess isn't our fault- and with mom's new idea for the water park in Thneedville, they probably won't care." The next chuckle was considerably happier, warmed by the nostalgia of a memory that seemed impossibly distant by this point. "Remember that waterslide I made ages ago? Mom was finally okay with the prototype and we're moving forward on that, it's-"

Again he was interrupted by a series of hacking coughs, leaving an opening for his former friend to speak up. "Why is it she's t' one approvin' your prototypes? Shouldn't it be your board of directors?"

"W-well," the Once-ler winced as he thumped his chest, trying to clear away the last of the wheezing. This time a bit of the blackness clung to his chapped lips, though he did his best to swallow it. "Yeah, but it's always best to run it by mom first. She just has a better handle on what works- my ideas are always so far out there, so… you know. She makes them work."

Those green eyes scrutinized him for a moment. "What about yer stupid thneed? That was your idea in the first place, she was the one telling you it wouldn't work."

His former charge flinched a bit at this, then began to fiddle with the pen in his hands, twirling it across his fingers shakily. "W-well, she was just trying to motivate me, like she said, and that's totally different."

The Lorax cocked his head to the side, simply studying the Once-ler as the young man focused just a bit too purposefully on that twirling pen. When the creature did finally speak, his voice was surprisingly cold. "Ya just don't get it, do ya? She's using you."

At these words, the pen went flying out of the Once-ler's hands, clattering across the desk loudly. He sat there for a moment, seemingly in shock. "Excuse me?"

The creature on his desk let out a sigh, scratching the back of his head and clearly using the moment to choose his words carefully. "Don't ya see? She's just chewin' ya up t' spit ya out, and you're just lettin' it happen. She didn't care about you before you were successful, and she don't really care about you now, either."

At these words, the Once-ler's eyes narrowed. "Mustache," he spoke up, his tone slow, careful, and very dangerous. "I'd shut up if I were you."

The Lorax continued, undeterred, tiny paws clenching into fists at his sides. His words came out in a rush, like a torrent of rain poured from long-gathering storm clouds. "All she cares about are your ideas and how much money you can make her. Face it, when's t' last time she paid ya the time of day and you didn't have some kind of cash cow preposition t' catch her attention first? I'm gonna bet ya had t' pay for it- funny how her love is based around what kind of pearl earrings ya bought for her on Mother's Day, isn't it?"

"That was my own fault for forgetting how much she doesn't like pearls!" The Once-ler snapped, mouth pressing into an angry line.

That elicited a hearty, barking sort of laugh from the forest guardian. "Seriously! Are you even listening t' yourself?" The Lorax exclaimed. "Face it, Beanpole, she ain't in this for anyone but herself, and she ain't even doing it that well. Think about it- how t' _hell_ is choppin' down those trees helping your business?"

"Oh, gee, here we go!" The Once-ler exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air and rolling his eyes dramatically. "I should have realized that was what this was about- it's always about the stupid trees with you!"

"I'm just trying to _get your attention_, idiot!" The Lorax snapped, pointing a claw in the Once-ler's direction. "If remembering your damn promises ain't gonna get through your thick skull, if showin' ya how many of your old friends you've left in the dust ain't gonna do anything, then maybe _this_ will! What happens t' your precious thneeds when you run outta trees, huh?"

The inventor had been opening his mouth for a retort, but these words- along with yet another cough -did give him a moment's pause. "I… what are you talking about?" He muttered, brow furrowing. "We aren't going to run out of trees, there's millions of them. We're just cutting down a few, it's not a problem."

The Lorax gave a snort. "Shows how much ya know about your own shindig, don't it? At t' rate you're going, they'll be gone before long- and it's not like ya need the whole tree, just the tufts. Choppin' em down like you're doing is as stupid as an apple farmer choppin' down their whole orchard t' get at their apples faster- it's just gonna screw ya over in the long run."

Blue eyes narrowed a bit in confusion as the Once-ler studied the creature for a moment, then abruptly dropped his gaze to the desk. "Well… no, that's not true. I mean, we just… demand's higher than ever, Mustache, and if we don't get those thneeds out our stock is going to go down," he mumbled as he began to shuffle the papers on his desk, an obvious attempt to give his hands something to do. "And I mean, you know how it is, there's a holiday weekend and mom says we've got to get extra out for the rush, so-"

"Are you even_ listening_ to yourself?" The Lorax cut him off, his glare relentless. "There ya go with your mom again. She don't know what's goin' on- she's jus' worried about a quick buck, that's all she's ever been worried about. She don't care about what happens t' the forest later on, she don't care about all those employees you hired, and she _definitely_ don't care about you."

That got the anger back, a flare of cold fire behind blue eyes as the Once-ler met the Lorax's glare with one of his own. "I thought I told you to back off on this?"

"I'll back off on it when you finally listen t' me," the Lorax replied with a cold, heavy sort of clarity. "She has ya running around on puppet strings and you don't even realize it."

"Shut up."

"I'm sorry, does that hit a bit close t' home?" The creature murmured grimly as he took a step toward the Once-ler. "Don't ya find it funny that she hasn't actually let ya have an idea of your own since the thneed? And don't tell me Thneedville was your idea- you made it work, you didn't come up with it."

"_Shut up_, Mustache," the Once-ler repeated, louder now.

"She let's ya think every damn idea she's had is actually yours so she can get away with it. She tells ya t' buy and buy and buy and you just do it, you let it all blind you because she's taken everything else and you just won't admit it." Again those words came in a rush, hard, painful and clear, each word punctuated with a jab of a claw as the Lorax drew closer and closer.

"There's nothing to admit," the Once-ler put in, scowling as he squared his shoulders, drew himself up. Even seated, he towered over the forest guardian, a tall green monster of excuses and denial. "I deserve this stuff, you know I deserve it. I've worked _hard _and-"

"And what!" The Lorax snapped, throwing his paws up in the air. "What are ya even working for, idiot? For fame? Those people don't know you, they know your stupid show! Ya can't say acceptance, 'cause it ain't _you_ they're accepting, you know that! Ya ain't workin' for stuff, you never wanted _stuff_, you were happy with that crappy tent in the forest!" He gestured around the office, the colossal desk, the gold-lined mirror, the stupid top hat. "Ya swallow it all like it's gonna fix things and what's it actually done for you, eh? Nothing!"

"I don't recall _asking for your opinion_, you stupid muppet!" The Once-ler snarled as he finally rose to his feet, shoving his office chair back with a horrid squeal against the polished floor.

"Well that's too damn bad, cause I ain't done!" The Lorax continued, undeterred by his former charge's added height. "Admit it, this ain't gonna fill that hole inside you- you know that, you can see it just as well as I do. You've been trying to fix it this whole time, and you're going about it all wrong. You want stuff, you want acceptance, you want all those things ya never had- but it's been right here the whole time, don't you get that!"

Here he finally jabbed a claw into the Once-ler's chest, glaring up at him as he screamed.

"We accepted you, you stupid idiot! The trees accepted you, Pipsqueak accepted you, the valley accepted you, Norma accepted you- _I_ accepted you! And you just spat it all in our faces- you threw it all away, and for _what_? A stupid top hat and some stuff ya never get t' use?"

"Try _success_!" The Once-ler barked right back, shoving the creature's paw away. "All my life I bent over backwards for people, and for absolutely nothing! For the first time, thing are finally going right for me, and I'm sick of hearing you whine about it! I know my rights, I haven't done anything wrong- I'm just finally _winning_ and nobody's willing to let me do that! Norma-" Here his voice seemed to catch in his throat, though that may have been the illness. "Norma didn't get it, okay?"

His shoulders dropped and his voice lowered as he spoke, took on that bitter, lonely sort of lilt that fit the man eating pancakes all alone in his oversized kitchen. He reached up to run a hand through his hair again, gaze going to the window as he seemingly spoke more to himself than the creature on his desk. "All I tried to do was make her happy. I gave her stuff, I gave her clothes, I took her on all these lavish outings… she's the one who spat all my sacrifices in my face. She was being so unfair- I was doing all this work for her, you know? I could have given her _everything_, and she just…." He trailed off again. He then swallowed, took a deep breath and faced the Lorax again, drawing himself up to his full height.

"I finally have everything, and there's nothing wrong with that. I've finally succeeded, and if you have a problem with it, so what? There's no law against what I'm doing." His tone started out surprisingly calm, assured, the well-practiced dribble meant for flashing cameras and microphones, salesmen excuses and lies. But the cold came out at the end, that awful darkness that matched those squared shoulders and the set jaw."Nature's about survival of the fittest, and I'm doing just that- I'm surviving, finally, and-" Again he was cut off by an awful cough that seemed to pull the growl of frustration from his throat along with the black bile and stinging razorburn. "If you can't handle that, you can go right along with her! Get out!" He barked, his voice rasping and raw as he tried to choke the snarl past the bitter taste in his dry throat. His gloved fingers scratched against desktop for some sort of handhold as he continued to hack and cough, thin shoulders shaking so violently it looked like he might collapse then and there.

"But you _ain't_ surviving," The Lorax replied matter-of-factly, refusing to back down even as he spoke over the young man's coughing. His expression was impassive as he watched the young man double over the desk, but still he spoke. "Nothing is! The trees are dyin', your business is comin' soon after that, your employees are getting sick, and above all else _you_'re crumbling right alongside it! Don't you get it? It's not your company, it's _hers_, and you-"

"_Stop_ talking about my mom like that!" The Lorax was cut off as the Once-ler roared in his face. The inventor had to lean nearly double to do it, his snarl sending black spittle flying through the air, voice hoarse and rasping like a dying animal. "This isn't her company, it's mine, and it's doing just _fine_" This was punctuated by a violent jab to a furry chest with a gloved finger. The young man's bright blue eyes narrowed into something dark and awful, a primal thing that matched the blackness oozing from his mouth and clinging to his bared teeth.

"I have had it with you barging in here and telling me what to do! I've had it with you telling me I'm wrong, I've had it with _everyone_ telling me I'm wrong! I'm not wrong, I'm going to keep biggering and biggering, and there's nothing you or Norma or anyone else can say that's going to make it stop! Besides, if you've got such a problem with that, then _why don't you stop me_!" The last bit was punctuated by the young man slamming his gloved palms against the desk, the sound echoing through the giant office. He stood there for a moment, panting violently after his outburst, blue eyes wide as if he himself were surprised by it. Black hair clung to his sweat-soaked face, got sent billowing with each heavy, wheezing breath, matched the color of the blackness dribbling from the sides of chapped lips.

"Why don't you stop me?" He repeated, and his voice was quieter now, so quiet it could barely be heard, almost a plea. "I've got to be on what, strike five hundred by this point? Your system is stupid but this is ridiculous even for that, so why don't you…" The Once-ler trailed off, head falling forward as he braced himself against the desk, still panting and wheezing for breath.

There was a silence that seemed to stretch on forever, endless, something empty and impossibly huge that only seemed to emphasize how small the Once-ler seemed in comparison. Smaller still came the Lorax's reply, a quiet thing nearly swallowed in the stillness.

"I can't," the Lorax said, and there was something small and almost helplessly sad to it as he watched his old friend. "That's not how it works."

The Once-ler watched him for another moment, still breathing hard. He took in the sight of small slumped shoulders, those green eyes that suddenly seemed large and so very helpless. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, so many "whys" and "what about the lightning" and pleas he wasn't sure he felt comfortable voicing. There was recognition that "I won't stop" had somehow become "I_ can't_ stop" and he had no idea how to fix it. There were so many questions and pleas and anxieties he never voiced, anxieties that match so uncomfortably well with the accusations that still seem to hang in the air. There was the anger and the demands and the insistences that he wasn't wrong, he could never be wrong, he's so sick of being wrong and this is so unfair. Then there's here's the guilt, a heavy thing that he so desperately tried to ignore, a thing normally masked by sunglasses and suit jackets that abruptly has him _truly_ looking at his old friend for the first time in awhile.

The Lorax seemed small, impossibly small on his desk, and the Once-ler figured that has something to do with the sheer t_hinness_ that- in this moment of clarity -he could not deny lay outside. The creature was thinner and his coat was grayer, his mustache seemed droopier, everything about him seemed weaker and sadder and suddenly the Once-ler felt all the worse for asking something he wasn't even sure of himself. There was a part of him that felt incredibly mad, a part that insisted "you let this happen", but he wasn't sure who "you' is and he feels all the madder for that.

This pain was as sharp as the daggers in his throat as the coughing started anew, brought him back to Earth and let him force the veil back over his eyes. The Once-ler winced as he fought to clear his throat, then finally collapsed in his chair. "Get out," he finally rasped. "Just go."

Those green eyes watched him for another moment. Though he could not meet them, the Once-ler was well aware they were more pained than angry and that only served to reignite the cooling embers of his righteous anger from before. But then the Lorax was turning and walking away, leaving the bile and empty words sour on his tongue as those foosteps and the last hint of butterfly milk seemed to vanish on the wind.

In reality this was fortunate, as his mother chose that instant to poke her head in. "Oncie!" Her sing-song tone rang over the squeak of the door hinges. "I was just talking with the publicists and we need to be ready in five, so if you could just be a dear and-" The woman stopped dead in her tracks as she finally got a good look at her son, brow furrowing. "What in _tarnation_ is wrong with your face?"

The Once-ler blinked at her, then reached up absently to rub some of the black gunk gathered at the edges of his lips. "Oh, uh… sorry mom," he mumbled. "I just-" He was cut off by another cough, grimacing as his shoulders hunched around his ears. "I'm just not feeling well today, that's all."

"Oh." Her response was quiet, dead, tinged with obvious disappointment that hurt just as much as his throat. Then her smile was back in place and she gave a laugh, waving her ring-encrusted hand in a careless manner. "Oh honey, it's no problem! A little bit of cover-up and we'll have you lookin' right as rain in no time!"

Her son winced a bit at this. "But…" The words hung on his lips, fighting to leave. Reminders that he was ill, so very ill, pleas to shift things to another day, that nagging doubt in his mind in that stupid child's voice asking a question never should have had to be asked.

It never got out, however, and after a few moments of staring down her nose his mother rolled her eyes. "I hope ya ain't this tongue-tied for the reporters, Oncie," she drawled, a warning laced through her otherwise sweet tone. Then her smile was back, wide, plaster-of-Paris fake and his ultimate inheritance."Now hurry up, time is money~!" With those words she slammed the door behind her, leaving her son alone.

The Once-ler sat in the stillness for a moment before the coughing returned. He grimaced as he fell back against the leather material of his chair, listened to the material squeak. His breath came out in a pathetic wheeze, chest heaving as his gaze flicked around his office. Expensive chair, giant desk, golden statues, mirrors, award after award, stacks of money that stretched from floor to ceiling.

The king sat alone with his kingdom crumbling at the edges, and there was nowhere to go but up.


	13. Strike Three

**The Three Strike-Point-Flag System**

**A Lorax Fanfic Series by Digitaldreamer  
><strong>

**XIII: Strike Three  
><strong>

* * *

><p><em>And then we got to the fall. This one's a bit different from the others- the others were essentially a scene each, character exchanges to illustrate the Once-ler's character, the Lorax and the relationship between them. This one I had too many still images and none that made for a particularly strong scene by itself, so I went with this strange narrativestream of consciousness approach. Hopefully you all don't mind.  
><em>

_Also, for extra punch, if you can please put Valley Exodus on repeat or something. It will make this stronger if you do, I think. Enjoy!  
><em>

* * *

><p>It was over.<p>

The thought had hit him like a physical blow, the last tree that finally burst his bubble. One moment he'd been flying high and the next he'd been careening back to Earth, falling head over heels with nothing but thoughts of Icarus for company.

Too high, too fast. Touch the sun and you'll burn, idiot, because you're only human in the end.

The truly astounding part hadn't been the turning point, really, because in some small way he'd known it was coming. He could pretend he hadn't seen it, but it seemed downright foolish to pretend when faced with the endless skeleton outside. That final thunder crack of falling truffula tree had been the trigger, certainly, but in a small way he'd seen it coming even if it had still felt like a slap in the face. No, the worst part was watching just how quickly everything else crumbled with it.

The factory's fall was nearly instantaneous. After all, with no trees to feed into it, the monster quickly ground to a halt, letting out a final, wheezing breath in its death throes. The behemoths went still, ever-spinning gears and conveyer belts falling silent for the first time in years. Workers were left standing in the aftermath, all grease-stained gloves and murmurs of confusion before the word came that no, it wasn't a malfunction, the tufts were simply no longer coming.

A thousand people were abruptly torn from their jobs with nowhere to go. Suddenly family dinners and car payments went from a guaranteed thing to daunting tasks and the world was in no condition to help shoulder the burden.

The riots hadn't been a surprise, not really. The Once-ler couldn't exactly blame them, he'd be angry too if he were in the same position. Still, shouts and signs left him with no options besides holing up in his office, watching enraptured as smoke and flame lit up the barren landscape. Chop-It's became punching bags for crowbars and cinder blocks, factory windows shattered inward, gates and doorways were bent and pounded on. The peasants stormed the castle and Nero hid away from burning Rome because there was little else to do.

He hadn't hid forever, of course. He hadn't had much of a choice in that. The board of directors had all resigned within a week, fled to Fiji and Florida on private jets that traced gray trails of smoke through the charcoal of the sky. They fled and all too quickly the face of Thneed Inc. was the _only_ member of Thneed Inc. Ideas that had once been the pride of the board and his mother all too abruptly fell squarely on his shoulders, reminders of "well, it was your design, right?" and "come now boy, surely you noticed the smog?" and "Well now, you're CEO! It was your choice, I'm not going to clean up your mess" became final goodbyes to the cage of the conference room.

In the span of forty-eight hours, the company golden boy became the company scapegoat and there was simply nowhere to run.

The press conferences had been more like verbal lynch mobs than anything remotely constructive. He'd made his way through the parting seas of the crowd, shoulders hunched in a way that couldn't possibly hide him with his height. He'd been jostled past jeering crowds and unrestrained contempt for his fitted green suit, collapsed into that familiar over-sized chair to face the firing squad of questions and jackals eager for every poorly chosen word or phrase.

"Mister Once-ler, what do you intend to do regarding the thousand of workers now left jobless due to your reckless consumption?"

"Are you aware, sir, of the overpopulation crisis that currently faces Thneedville?"

"What is your opinion on the price drop of the thneed?"

"Mister Once-ler, sir, could you take a moment to address the theory that smogulous smoke is the cause of the epidemic sweeping the city?"

"Who do you intend to hold responsible for this, Mister Once-ler, and what do you intend to do about it?"

The questions came in a rush, some barbs coated in honey while others were flat out venomous. He'd managed to answer a few somewhat satisfactorily, but usually by question number three the crowd got so hurried he couldn't get a word in edgewise. More often than not he was left sitting in silence, his head in his hands as the questions washed over him like so much white noise. It wasn't answers they wanted anymore, it wasn't a solution- after all, anyone could see they were well beyond a solution now.

They didn't want answers, they wanted somebody to blame. They wanted a villain.

And he certainly seemed like the villain in his tailored green suit and absurdly tall top hat. Abruptly the nice suits and state-of-the-art appliances seemed like a foolhardy decision in the wake of the recession sweeping through Thneedville. The limo rides had been abandoned almost instantly and he'd sold the sports car, but there was no avoiding the glares and camera flashes and he couldn't entirely blame them. After all, he wasn't the one suffering from the skyrocketing prices of everyday items as people switched from vanity projects to concern over what they truly needed.

What people needed. Funny how amidst the recession, the only thing to _drop _in price had been the overabundance of thneeds still in the stores. The most wanted item became a clearance rack waste of space, and that seemed all too ironic when the Once-ler considered how insistent he'd been before in regards to their sustainability. Oh yes, better hurry and chop those trees, demand's going to be crazy because of the holiday season unless we have an unexpected complete collapse of business!

Oh wait.

All that money and all those fancy words seemed useless. Suddenly the man with everything had nothing- those piles of money went to severance pay and what little was left seemed like a bitter consolation prize in the wake of everything. He was still the richest man in the world, but in the end it hardly amounted to anything.

Though really, none of that mattered in comparison to how _she_ had reacted.

He'd expected the explosion. Really, that was pretty standard. They'd brought the whole family in to discuss it and that'd been bad enough, because he'd been hoping for something a bit quieter. But the whole family had been there and the initial shouts of outrage and shock had been bad enough, but oh, then had come his mother.

She'd seemed to tower above all of them in that living room in spite of her thin, slight frame, her face stone as the chaos had raged around the fancy room and reverberated off of glittering crystal chandeliers. She'd simply sat in her chair and her fancy dress, glaring until the whole room went silent, and that was when the _real_ torrent started.

The words had started out quiet. A cold, hard "I simply can't believe you, Oncie,", words that held such weight that they seemed to physically drop in the abruptly silent room. They'd continued, reminders that he was supposed to be the smart one here, how he'd always been the one to get straight As and had all the ideas and how she'd expected _so_ much and given up _so much_ to let him take those opportunities and those words were a lie, he knew they were a lie, some part of him was screaming they were a lie but he couldn't find his voice.

For she stood there, reminding him of every responsibility and how she'd trusted him, she'd _trusted him_ to keep track of it all and he'd gone and failed her. He'd gone and failed all of them and those words had hit him like something awful because they were already echoing the reminders in his head. There was a part that couldn't believe her expectations, the part that held doubts and had whispered against all those self-centered diatribes and the one-sided arguments outside the board room. There was a part that spoke against it but oh how quickly that was shut out, left him defenseless and alone against words that tore him to pieces.

Your fault, Oncie. Your fault. She trusted you and she hoped for you and she expected so much and it was all on you because you're the smart one, Oncie. You're the man of the house and really now, she should have known better and in a way she always had. You came from _him_ and she should have known you couldn't shake failure like the dust from that man's bones. The stench of failure is on you like that stupid fedora, like that stupid inherited guitar and those stupid dreams and you are just as bad as that good for nothing-

"Leave dad out of this."

The words were so quiet, so sudden that even the Once-ler seemed unaware that he'd spoken them. His mother had stood in shock, brown eyes wide and mousy mouth hanging open, and for the first time in so very long her son had taken that opportunity to speak himself.

"Dad wasn't a failure. Dad was… he was always trying to impress you. That's all he ever wanted, he just wanted to make you happy. He tried and he tried and you could never just look at him and see that!" The words had come in a rush then, an awful thing that he hadn't even been aware he'd been holding back. But still they came and the Once-ler was the one drawing himself up against that awful rodent of a woman, shoulders squared and abruptly aware of things like her opossum nose and that shrewish disposition and how with a head or two on her in height she seemed far less regal than he'd always thought.

"That's all he ever wanted- that's all _I_ ever wanted, don't you see that! If we're failures at anything, it's because we were both idiots and didn't seem to realize that you're never impressed, not really! You'll never be satisfied, you'll always want more, and we'd always be left just trying to keep up! That's not fair and that's not right! Dad wasn't a failure for leaving… if anything, leaving you was probably the smartest thing he ever-"

The rest never made it out, because in that moment his mother had finally crossed the distance between them and slapped him. The sound echoed throughout the living room, a thunder crack that seemed to split the very earth in two with its sudden nature and the idea behind it. The two had stood in silence after that, his mother panting for breath with fire in her gaze, the Once-ler gaping at her in shock as he clutched at his reddening cheek. She'd stared at him for another moment, then blinked and glanced to her palm as if it had betrayed her- understandable, given that at the very least she'd never raised a hand against her children before. She forced the offending appendage down, manicured nails digging into her palms as they clenched into fists and teeth standing out white and bright against red lipstick as her next words came out.

"Don't you _ever_ talk back t' your mama," She'd hissed out. Again came the silence, heavy, oppressive, and her next words came out like the falling of an axe. "Brett, Chett, start packin'. We're leaving."

If he'd looked shocked before, it was nothing compared to the look of sheer devastation on the Once-ler's face at those words. His shoulders slumped, long body seeming to crumble as he reached out for his mom, pleas coming out amongst murmurs of confusion and outrage from the rest of the family.

"W-what? M-mom, wait, you don't have to-"

"But ma-"

"Hold on now, Susan, I dunno if that-"

"Let's not be hasty here, Sue-"

"We are _leaving_!" Her words came out in a screech, almost window-shattering, and in that moment she seemed more like a child ready to stamp her foot than a fully grown woman. Even the source of the noise seemed a bit surprised by her own outburst, though after a moment she'd given a huff and put her nose in the air again. "You heard me boys- Grizelda, you too. We came for the company, and that's over now. Better t' cut our losses and move on…" She trailed off, fixing her icy gaze on her tallest son.

"There's nothin' left for us here."

That had been that. There was no fighting with her, after all, and what could any of them do even if they'd tried? The Once-ler was left standing in shock as his family did as they were told, all righteous anger and that little voice in the back of his mind gone in an instant.

He'd tried to reason with them, he really had. He tried pointing out Thneedville and how their home was already here, how the farmhouse had been sold anyway and surely the economy would come back soon enough. His brothers and uncle could show sympathy, but that had always been nothing compared to his mom. When his mom wanted something, she got it, and that was that. He'd offered the last dregs of his bank account that hadn't been drained by severance pay and lawsuits and oh, she took that. She took that and she took so many of his things, took the big screen television even though they had six, took state-of-the-art appliances and furniture that wouldn't fit in the RV and _everything_.

His mom always got what she wanted, and in the end she wanted everything but him.

They took everything and he was left begging and pleading to deaf ears, voice cracking like a child's as he desperately pried at stone. But there was nothing he could do and all too quickly the RV was packed and heading down the road, leaving nothing but a puff of exhaust and an empty factory. The Once-ler stood in the silence of it all, watching that list bit of off white vanish over those rolling hills.

But of course it wasn't over. His factory collapsing had been pretty terrible. The press conferences had been downright brutal, and watching the ensuing chaos hadn't been a party either. His family leaving, that had been something else entirely. And yet somehow in the midst of it all, he'd completely forgotten he still wasn't alone in the valley.

He'd expected anger. He'd expected anger and threats, bared claws and teeth, talons waiting for his flesh. The past few weeks had left knives at and in his back from every direction, and it only made sense that the animals would be the same way. After all, he had destroyed their home, there was no denying that, and he felt torn between terror because he just wasn't sure he could _take_ anymore and something like relief because at least he'd be getting what he deserved.

But they didn't. Of course they didn't attack him, and really, he should have known they wouldn't. These were creatures who had welcomed him with open paws and wings and fins, who hadn't even seemed to understand the concept of an axe. They weren't naturally violent, they never had been, and that had been part of what had made it so _easy_. They had been innocent and naive and nothing compared to his beaming smile and stupid ideals, and he couldn't help but wonder if things had been different had they known.

Probably not.

So of course the anger he'd expected didn't come, and he wasn't sure if he felt better or worse for that. There was no anger, no blows to fall, merely thousands of eyes that looked so impossibly hurt and lost as they looked to him.

"Why?" He could hear the question, could hear the damning words even if they couldn't produce it themselves. "Why did you do this? We trusted you, everybody trusted you. We gave you everything and you just took it, we gave you everything and you lied. We gave you everything and all you had to do was take care of it. You had one job and you promised, so why?"

"I don't know," he wanted to say. "I don't know, I'm sorry", but the words were stuck in his throat. The words and apologies were stuck in his throat, whether it was out of fear or pain or that damned pride that still clung like that black gunk in his chest and that stupid cough. The words stayed put and he was left with the only thing he knew how to do.

The whole world's a stage, Once-ler, so put on a show.

Out came the marshmallows and the pleas once again, out came that stupid winning smile and those carefully-spun suggestions. Out came word after word and memories and _things_, appeals to pack sand and cards into that stupid pedestal in the tide. Anything to bring those eyes back to him, anything to return the applause for those crappy karaoke shows and pancake breakfasts, anything to make up for the loss of flashing cameras and mom's hollow thank yous at yet another pearl to buy her love for six more months. Anything so he wouldn't have to be alone. Anything.

"It's not about _you_, idiot."

Maybe it was the Lorax who'd said it. Maybe it was his conscience. But either way, the thought had hit him around when Pipsqueak gave him that look, and at last the final mask and little flourish dropped away as blue eyes met wide dark ones. Because yeah, that pretty much summed it up. He'd been Pipsqueak's hero. He'd been everybody's hero. But he'd destroyed so much more than his own image, had done so much more than burn bridges and fall from the public eye. He'd ruined their home.

Nothing was going to fix that, and trying to fix his image in the wake of that was almost as bad as everything else.

And with that in mind he'd finally turned to the Lorax, missed the view of the last of the valley's exodus as he turned to the final, logical conclusion. The factory was gone, his title was gone, his employees were gone. The endless rumble of the Thneed-O-Matics had died away, the mindless chatter of adoring crowds and the constant click of flashbulbs a distant memory. There were no pearl-encrusted hands and harsh family smiles to pull him down the road anymore, no more idols in those endless suits and awards and state-of-the-art _things_ that needed caring. No more company plans and speeches to write, no more inventions.

Nothing to drown his little orange conscience out anymore, and ironically the Lorax finally seemed to have run out of words.

They stood there for a moment, simply meeting each other's gaze. The landscape seemed to stretch between them, dark, endless scarring even though it was only a few feet. Blue eyes were wide, pleading, the gaze of someone lost in the dark. It was the gaze of someone begging for words to fill the silence. It was the gaze of someone all too used to yelling from the past few weeks, and after everything that had happened it was the silence that hurt more.

Say something. Please say something. You always had words before, I could never get you to _shut up_ before, please just say something! Yell at me, tell me I'm an idiot, use your stupid nicknames, remind me again, tell me about your stupid trees, tell me what to do- _I'm listening now_, so please!

But of course that's not how it works, and those green eyes say far more than words ever could.

The Once-ler stared at his old friend for another moment, felt those words fighting to get past the lump in this throat. Finally his hands came up to pry the top hat off his head, finally those shoulders fell along with his crumbling house of cards and he was left desperately seeking those eyes again. He wasn't a CEO, he wasn't some genius entrepreneur, not the favorite son, not anything.

Just a stupid farmboy who'd made a stupid mistake and the friend who had been right all along.

The Lorax watched this action, then finally let his eyes fall shut. Because of course it was too late, anybody could see that. Too little too late, and there was that spark of pain, a wish, a bitter sort of disappointment that came with words like "I expected better" and "I trusted you". But the words never came and there was nothing left to say.

So the Lorax lifted himself away and the Once-ler was left staring in awe, jaw dropping at that tiny ray of sunlight and it had been i_so long_/i since he'd seen sunlight. He watched the guardian of the forest vanish into the sky and abruptly all those 'fraud' remarks seemed stupid and hollow and all he could wonder was why it had taken him this long to believe.

The Once-ler watched until the Lorax was gone. Then the clouds had sealed, like a door slamming shut, and all too suddenly he was alone in the dark. Just himself and the skeletons of a factory and the valley it swallowed, just himself and a slowly unraveling green suit, just himself and one final word that he finally noticed.

_Unless_.

The young man stared at the word for a moment, etched it into his memory the way it stood in the stone. Timeless, endless, the only thing to survive in the nothing he'd left behind. A memorial to it all, the gravestone, and it was with this in mind that he finally let himself drop to his knees in the dirt.

"Strike three," he murmured to the stillness.

"Strike three, Beanpole. You're out."


	14. Sore Loser

**The Three Strike-Point-Flag System  
><strong>

**A Lorax Fanfic Series by Digitaldreamer  
><strong>

**XIV: Sore Loser (Trying Not to Be)  
><strong>

* * *

><p><em>Annnd new chapter. Some people thought I was stopping the fic last chapter, but nope. I intended to chronicle the whole of the Once-ler's journey, and that means the aftermath and Old!Once-ler. The latter will be next chapter, as for the former, here we are.<br>_

_I wanted to just depict the Once-ler coming to accept everything, as well as the aftermath of it all. Hopefully I did it believably. Music-wise, I think Thistle and Weeds by Mumford and Sons fits very well, though You Found Me by the Fray fits the "climax" bit, if you care. Just uh... yeah. Hope you guys enjoy!  
><em>

* * *

><p>He deserved this.<p>

The Once-ler knew he deserved it. To not observe this would be the equivalent of spitting on the footsteps of everybody who had left, and there had been far too many discussions on the concept of responsibility for him to not at least acknowledge that on some level. Still, it was hard to accept it.

At first it had had simply been too big to even comprehend. The silence in the wake of everything was like a gaping wound, something so immense it almost felt physical. It was too big to feel sad over, too big to cry over, too big to scream at. It was so impossibly big that he felt almost numb and nonexistent in the throes of it, disbelieving.

Maybe it was all a trick. Maybe his mom was just testing him- she had a tendency to do that, like when she'd left him, Brett and Chett behind at the super market for hours at a time. Surely any moment now that RV would come roaring over the hills again and she would be insisting she'd never meant to leave at all and everything would be fine. Maybe the Lorax was doing the same thing and he'd be coming back any second now, appear out of nowhere like usual with some stupid comment about his height and they'd argue and get back to work and everything would be normal.

Of course, after awhile he had to accept that this simply wasn't the case, and that was when he'd found himself curling inward in the dust. He'd sat alone with his knees pulled up to his chest in the dark, choking back whispered pleas for that hopeless return with nothing but the stillness and the silence to listen to him. For awhile there wasn't anything, simply that stillness, the sheer blinding agony of the idea and the thing they'd left behind, the idea of the logical consequence.

Then the anger set in.

At first, he wasn't sure _what_ to be angry over. He'd sat alone in the dirt, dust coating that fitted green suit, and somewhere amidst the burning at the edges of his vision and the bitter black on his lips had come that rising bile to fill the hole. Out came the "I don't deserve this" and the "how dare they"s, because he had never meant for any of this to happen.

How dare they leave him with this? How dare the board and his employees abandon him after everything he'd done, after the bonuses and changed lives and the lavish celebrations he'd thrown in their honor? How dare the public lash out at him when he'd been the one to give them everything in the first place? How dare his mother-_ no not his mom never his mom_ - how dare his family leave after he'd tried so hard for them? How dare the animals and Lorax abandon him after all those things he'd made for them, after all the compromises he'd tried to pull? How dare they, how dare they, and this just wasn't _fair_! All he'd wanted was to succeed, to finally get something right. He had never meant any harm, had never meant for this, and the aftertaste of loneliness seemed like unfair retribution when he'd never had any sort of malicious intent.

He destroyed everything, there was no denying it- but he hadn't _meant _to, and that had to count for something.

So these things ran through his mind at a million miles an hour, all the bitter "how dare theys" and the musings on good intentions. Then something clicked, and rather suddenly he knew what to do. He'd never meant for this to happen. All he'd ever wanted was to make things better, to change the world. He'd failed at that and there was no denying his mistake. But he'd always been the sort of person to take failure in stride, to accept it and find a way to make it work- or more importantly, to fix it.

This thought had come, quite literally, with the seed. He'd been sitting there in the dark, alone, sifting inherited dust through gloved hands when he'd spotted it. It was tiny, so tiny it was nearly invisible, but its light brown gleam and spiral shape were unmistakeable. A truffula seed- the _only_ truffula seed, now. It'd been placed in that circle of stones- maybe a parting gift but probably coincidence because those green eyes could not have offered him anything back then - alone, small and pathetic and so fragile looking he'd been afraid to even touch it. Still, he'd scrambled through the dirt on his knees and reached for it, cradling it with the sort of care he'd been desperately missing for his past few years in the valley. He cradled it in his dust-coated palms and his voice had come out somewhere between a choked sob and laugh, bubbling in his throat as he clutched the thing to him in the dark.

He could still fix this, right?

And oh, he did try. He planted it right then and there, watered it carefully and waited and waited. When nothing happened he'd dug the seed up and moved to a different spot, tried again and again. The area around the factory became pock-marked with small holes, and after awhile he had to accept that the seed simply would not grow. He supposed it made sense- the soil was so thin and gray it was essentially ash between his fingers every time he dug, so thin it wouldn't even absorb the water he desperately tried to force it to drink. The liquid would just pool in the gray, create a sort of dust soup until he finally panicked and rescued the seed because what if it drowned?

Of course it didn't work. Of course it didn't, because it was related to him, and everything he'd ever done turned into a failure no matter how he tried, so why would this be any different? There was no fixing himself. But there was Thneedville, still chugging along with its smoke and smog even with no puppet master, and maybe he could start there.

So he'd tried that. The Once-ler had crept into town with that seed and new words, called out over public warnings regarding the air quality. He called out over promises of fresh water shipped from the Alps and job offerings for sales and deliveries for all the exporting that was necessary to keep Thneedville afloat. He tried to explain where the problem lay, tried to point out that draining resources from the outside was hardly fixing the issue. He'd explained about trees and just what they did, tried so hard to make it clear that there was a problem that needed _fixing_, not burying and running away.

No one listened. Of course they didn't, because why would they? After so many years spent paying lipservice to industry and the safety outside, his words seemed downright mad. Mostly he just received scoffs and laughter, insistences that there was nothing to be done or anything that _needed_ to be done about the outside and even if there was, nobody had time to do anything. After all, there were actual _jobs_ that needed doing right now- resources necessary for survival became commodities and something to put food on the table, and what would you know about that, Mister Once-ler?

Usually that was when the violence started, the thrown rocks and shouts of just what a hypocrite he was. There were instances that he was just trying to lie again and how dare he even show his face after everything he'd promised them, and well, he certainly couldn't deny that. He visited multiple times with an "I speak for the trees" and a seed, but there was no one to listen and only fists and anger when he over-stayed his already short welcome.

He'd tried to get them to listen and of course no one did. He tried to argue against the smog, tried to point out how dangerous it was and of course there was no one to listen Everyone just laughed and there had been the arguments of how this was necessary for survival, there had been declarations that he was a hypocrite and oh of _course_ he was but there was no arguing against them. Then there'd been the couple of times he'd tried to speak only to be interrupted by some new ad for O'Hare Air, whatever that was, and it was only natural that when weighed against the latest trend an old has-been didn't stand a chance.

The Once-ler had tried so hard to pull a veil over everyone's eyes when he'd started this whole mess,. Unfortunately, he'd succeeded, and now he wasn't strong enough to pull it away.

Perhaps his answer lay in the kids. While the adults remained angry at him, there had been children who had been curious. Wide eyes that sought out his, still young and innocent and completely unaware that he was the source of the thing that silenced their laughter with coughs when they stepped outside. They'd sought him and they'd listen before being whisked away by nervous parents, but that was a spark of hope by itself.

He could not bring the solution to Thneedville, that much was obvious. But maybe he could bring Thneedville to him.

That was when the rumor started. He planted the idea of the fifteen cents and the grandfather snail, built himself up from a forgotten has-been and the nightmare who ruined Dad's job to something else entirely. He became a legend and for awhile it had worked. For awhile the kids did show up, some genuinely curious, most to laugh. Of the genuinely curious there were far too many who got bored and wandered off, those who'd been too scared by the outside to stay, some who even got sick out in the wastes before outright declaring their parents had forbidden them from venturing out anymore.

For awhile there were the visitors, curious kids, laughing kids, angry parents and former employees who were angry over lost jobs and broken promises. After a few months, however, these largely dwindled down to nothing and he had to accept that no one cared and no one was coming.

After months of trying with that damn seed, the Once-ler what at a loss for what do. In fits of self pity and penance had come the inspiration to simply throw it all away. He'd sold off those stainless steel appliances and nice furniture, dismantled the expensive stove tops and shattered awards coated in dust. He recalled lectures regarding thing after thing and he responded in full, destroyed every stupid guitar he owned besides the first one. He smashed his things and let his old world burn, as if breaking it all could somehow bring the Lorax back.

Of course that did nothing, because why would more destruction fix anything?

It was with the splintering of that last guitar over the factory railing that it finally clicked. Because that was it- there was nothing left. Before he'd had that wild, stupid optimism- no, not optimism, desperation because that was all he'd ever been was desperate for attention -all that stupid desperation, that hope in the tiny seed. Before he'd had memories of the "right thing" to push him forward, that hope because yes he'd done something wrong but surely he could fix it.

This was it. There was no fixing it.

The dam had finally broke at that point. The dam had finally broke and the tears had come, hot and wet and tracing trails across his dust-coated face. He hadn't cried back before, back when it had started- there had been tears yes, hot pinpricks at the corners of his vision, but he'd blinked them back, felt too shocked and overwhelmed to even cry. Aside from that one time he had not cried, because the Once-ler had always made a point of avoiding such things. Boys don't cry, his mother had drilled that into him well enough, and no he would not let himself break because that would mean he had given up and it was over. The closest negative emotion he'd let through had been anger, and even that had been a vague, undefinable thing toward the situation as a whole- after all, he'd always considered himself an optimist. If there was negativity, he'd focus that energy into something positive, keep moving forward, because life had never left him room for things like anger and sadness against his mom so why would he allow it for anything else?

Well, there was room now. Miles and miles of emptiness and nothing else.

In spite of that, the first few tears had been hidden. They traced hot, wet tracks across his dust-coated face and still he curled inward, tried desperately to stifle his sobs as to stop the silence from hearing. His shoulders shook and his sobs came out quiet, breathless, gloved fingers clenching at fading pinstriped cloth and tugging at tufts of black hair turned gray by the dust around him. Eventually the sobs built and built, however, becoming an unstoppable force in his chest as great, unbidden gales of breath tore from his shaking frames. The sobs built and built until at last he was sitting there on the dusty walkway of an empty factory, head thrown back as he finally just screamed to the clouds above and the sour air.

First came the pain, finally hitting him in full and tearing those sobs of agony and mourning from him. Then came the anger, something true and honest and awful, like a monster in his gut. All he'd ever wanted was to make people happy and he'd gave and gave and now all he had to show for it was an endless wasteland and an empty factory. He'd given them Thneedville, he'd given jobs and lives, he'd given his mom pearls and dresses, he'd given them everything and everyone had just spat in his face. It just wasn't fair and he knew it wasn't fair at all and how _fucking dare they_! The board of directors had been the ones to stick him with those decisions in the first place, his mom had been the one to constantly push for him to chop down the trees and get the stupid suit and all those things! Brett and Chett had been the ones to constantly mess up and throw away entire harvests because of something stupid they'd done, his employees had been the ones constantly draining on resources and asking for more, more, more and all he'd done was listen! He hadn't done anything to deserve this, he hadn't done anything wrong, it had all been them and he was the one paying the price for it and how dare they?

How dare the Lorax do this to him?

"Why didn't you warn me?" The words came unbidden from his abruptly quiet lips, whispered in the stillness. "All you said was to stop cutting the damn trees, you didn't tell me this would happen. You didn't tell me they'd leave, you didn't say you'd leave. You never warned me. You never told me anything- you wouldn't even prove to me you were an actual forest guardian until it was too late." He let out a harsh, broken laugh at this. "All I asked for was proof, what was wrong with that?"

His words were coming out stronger now, his eyes narrowed as he clambered to his feet and looked to the sealed up sky. "All I asked for was proof and your stupid friendship. I tried everything- all I wanted was to please you and you judged every damn thing I did. Red flag for this, strike for that: I could never do anything right for you. What did you expect! I'm only human, you stupid orange sack of fuzz, I'm not perfect! I tried everything and you never even cared, all you did was sit there and remind me what a failure I was and you _knew_ how I felt about that, I told you everything! I gave you everything and I needed your help and you didn't even care!" His teeth ground together at the last bit, fists clenching at the railing.

"You Goddamned _LIAR_!" He snarled at the top of his lungs. His voice echoed through the wastes, raw, hoarse, tearing from his throat to the point where he almost felt it would bleed, but he kept screaming. "You said the forest was yours to protect but you never lifted a damn paw to do anything, you fraud! You said you cared about them but when I asked for your help you weren't there, you were never there when I needed you to be! If you were such a powerful forest spirit, why the hell didn't you stop me! I asked you to stop me, why didn't you! This is all your fault for not doing anything, and then you just up and leave!" His laughter came again, a screaming, awful cackle that echoed in the stillness. "Just pin it all on the stupid, puny human right? Oh yeah, just leave poor ol' Once-ler all alone to deal with the failure, no problem, he's so used to already he won't even notice! Wanna tell me about responsibility? Try it yourself, you stupid, filthy liar!"

He stood there in the stillness for a moment, simply breathing after his outburst, feeling drained of everything. He wasn't sure what he was expecting. A thunder crackle, lightning, a burst of orange, the Lorax appearing from the heavens to tell him off. Anything, anything as long as it wasn't silence.

But of course, that's not how it works.

After roughly a minute of waiting he finally collapsed, didn't even notice the metal slapping against his knees as he draped himself across the railing. "You said you'd be there for me… why aren't you?"

His wasn't sure how long he faced the silence. Hours and minutes were all the same here, after all. Still, after awhile he'd felt the anger drain away, like poison from a wound, and all it left in its wake was cold, hard truth.

The Lorax _had_ warned him, he couldn't deny that. The Lorax had warned him time and time again that cutting down the trees had been wrong and dangerous, had warned him on multiple levels. The Lorax had warned him and he hadn't listened, choosing instead to listen to his mother's sugary sweet words and every idea aimed more for a quick buck than anything substantial. He could have pulled the plug at any time- had considered it once or twice, even, because of course he hadn't been blind to the destruction outside -but he'd chosen not to. Who was he to be angry at the Lorax for not stopping him when it had been his mess in the first place?

He'd sold the world for a few years as king, and in the end it hadn't even been worth it.

After that had been the slow decline into acceptance. He still tried reaching out, for awhile anyway. He would visit town on occasion and spread the rumor of himself, though those first few months had taught him well that being open about it would only invite violence and some interesting arguments on how trees were unnecessary from workers at the new factories. The kids still came to visit him on occasion, but more and more it was less about curiosity and more because he was that creepy man outside of town with the creepy house- the "lurkim", the called it, though he had no idea where they got the word. All he knew was his lurkim and crumbling factory it was attached to had become fantastic target practice, and eventually out of sheer frustration he found himself erecting traps because this was ridiculous. He'd spread that rumor for the damn seed, not to be mocked, and if these people weren't willing to do that then so be it. Of course, that only drove him further into solitude, but after the hundredth kid who had shown up to throw rocks at his head and howl when the boot knocked him across the wasteland the Once-ler wasn't so sure he minded.

Eventually the visits trickled down to nothing. The visits ceased and his trips into town became rarer and rarer, until once day he went only to find a wall had been erected. The wall had been pulled around Thneedville with "Keep Out" signs and something about things being the property of O'hare Inc, but the Once-ler hadn't really been surprised or truly cared about the signs. Like bacteria from a wound he'd been sealed out, and in retrospect he supposed it was fitting.

He deserved this.

He deserved this and those words were like a mantra as time crawled around him. After awhile he'd finally been forced to pick himself up and move on. And he had, though it hadn't been easy. Mostly he'd just been at a loss for what to _do_. For awhile he'd tried little things like taking care of his home, dusting everything that needed dusting, keeping everything in tip top shape. He'd invented small things with the few resources he had, erected more traps to the point where they became increasingly more elaborate and would result in the littlest movement from his abode. On nights where the silence burned he'd take to playing little ballads on his guitar, let guitar strings scream for him into the dark. He erected a memorial of sorts, naming his little kingdom after a long gone friend. He felt an awful mixture of bitter pride when he erected the sign like a hangman's noose, but it was an empty sort of thing. No matter how hard he tried it was impossible to ignore that little nagging voice in the back of his mind, the one reminding him that he was just trying to fill empty space.

But then again, he deserved this.

The world crumbled around his little home. Sometime, to pass the time, he would wander through the remnants of his factory. His footsteps would echo across dusty, rusting catwalks, he'd count each new broken window that stood out like punched in teeth in the dust, He'd pass over scorched out workrooms and take in the scent of old sweat from the employee locker rooms, listen to the ghosts in empty watercoolers and break rooms. Sometimes he'd sit at his old desk and feel nostalgia wash over him, be filled with a desperate longing for flashing lights and microphones.

The king sat alone in his kingdom of dust and he did not weep because there was simply nothing left to mourn for.

There was nothing but himself, an empty factory and that damn word, and there were times when it was hard not to be frustrated by that. Unless _what_? He'd tried with the seed, he'd tried with the people, he'd tried to invent something, he'd tried everything. In his most bitter moments, it was hard to not think that it all simply meant "unless you suffer" but he was well aware the Lorax had never worked that way. So he held on and for what he didn't know, and in the end it simply fell down to him and that emptiness for company.

There were times when he missed it. Like an addict there were times when he longed for the days of endless attention and his mother's sugary sweet tone, when he missed the days of everything he wanted at the snap of his fingers. He missed fitted green suits and that double guitar, missed the award ceremonies and the endless praise and the cream of the crop. But then those thoughts would be cut off by a guilty cough and all too quickly the memories of hallow smiles and a too big, too empty kitchen would join the taste of black and almost instantly he'd feel awful for the wish. After all, he knew better.

He deserved this.

For awhile, he'd tried contacting his family. He sent his mom letter after letter, first begging her to come back and then dwindling down to updates, reminders that he was still alive. He'd tell her of life in the wastes and desperately ask how the family was doing, hoping for something, anything. Mom, of course, never responded. He got a few cursory letters from his Uncle and his brothers did genuinely try- but the former was always awkward and the latter, while heartfelt, were neigh illegible. After awhile they'd just stopped responding and he simply gave up- he doubted it was their fault, he was well aware his lone mailbox was hardly something worth traveling for and he certainly didn't feel up to advancing to "e-mail" or whatever had replaced it these days.

Then again, he was starting to not feel up to much of anything these days.

It was this thought that drove him further and further into his home by the day, sapped his energy and made things like those cursory cleanings and little inventions seem like an impossible effort. What was the point? There was no one to see the dust choking up old gears and gathering on windowsills, no one to view these inventions. There was nothing to help the wasteland outside, no magical cure for death and its friends. There was no audience for his little one man shows and the echoing of guitar strings that he tuned less and less. There was nothing.

He tried to let himself waste away. At first he wasn't conscious of the fact, it was simply the idea of eating canned truffula fruit didn't appeal to him for a few days and he already had a habit of forgetting he'd simply not felt like getting out of bed, and when those typical, black-lunged coughs welled up he'd simply ignored them. He ignored the rising heat within and the dry crack of his lips, ignored the way his wheezing breaths grew weaker and weaker. He'd considered dying before, but he'd never been brave enough to just take his own life. Perhaps this would be better, simply fading away to nothing like everything else around him.

But of course, he didn't.

He tried letting himself waste away several times, sometimes skipping meals, other times willfully ignoring the thickening tar in his lungs in hopes that it would eventually choke him. But every time he tried, in his feverish haze he swore he'd see a spot of orange in his gray world, hear a gruff voice snapping about how stupid he was and how he needed to take care of himself. Then would come what he swore was a paw against his forehead, the voice becoming almost gentle.

"Not just yet, Beanpole. Come on, you're stronger than this."

He'd wake up feeling better, with strength in his aging bones that he thought he'd lost. He'd wake up again and there was that awful sensation between agony and a hope he'd forgotten, an optimism that struggled against the dusted shadows his life had become. It seemed impossible, but still, he kept living. He kept living and there was that vain hope, lying dormant like that seed in his glove and still he waited.

There was nothing left, he knew that. There was nothing but himself, the sour air, an empty factory and that damn word. When it came down to it, he had nothing left to live for, but he stayed anyway.

He deserved it, right?


End file.
